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“ And there came a sudden and vigorous flick of the whip against Dandy’s 
flanks, so that he started off at a loping rate .” — See page 38. 


Sarah 


Dakota 


By Mary E. Q. Brush 



0 CQ/yr^'v N 

/<? o 


OCT 17 

\ & 

VA, 

WAS 


d> 

1854 


-7 0 


7*3 


NEW YORK : HUNT & EATON 
CINCINNATI : CRANSTON & CURTS 
1894 



Copyright by 
HUNT & EATON. 
1894 . 


\ 


Composition, electrotyping, 
printing, and binding by 
Hunt & Eaton, 

150 Fifth Ave., New York. 


To the Memory of 

LOUISE, 

whose book of life the Father’s hand closed 
so early and so gently, 

This Volume is Inscribed by 
HER LOVING MOTHER. 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. page 

The Mistress of Vandecar Ranch, 7 

CHAPTER II. 

What the Listener Heard, 26 

CHAPTER III. 

The Home of Long Eyebrow, - - - - - 44 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Fugitive’s Return, ------ 59 

CHAPTER V. 

The Van Dorn Homestead, - - - - - 71 

CHAPTER VI. 

Fellow-travelers, - - - - - - - 87 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Arrival of the Cousins, - - - - - 102 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The First Sunday, - - - - - 1 1 7 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Bareback Performance, - - - - - 134 


6 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


CHAPTER X. 

At Madame Pinkeray’s, 

CHAPTER XI. 

“ Those Girls,” - 

CHAPTER XII. 
An Intercepted Letter, - 

CHAPTER XIII. 
The Amethysts, - 

CHAPTER XIV. 
Miss Van Dorn’s Niece, 

rt 

CHAPTER XV. 
Under Suspicion, - 

CHAPTER XVI. 
The Prayer Meeting, - 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Guy Probes a Mystery, - 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
Left to Themselves, - 

CHAPTER XIX. 
The “ Little Indian ” Takes Command, 

CHAPTER XX. 
How It All Came Out, - 


PAGE 

- 150 

- 167 

- 182 

- 196 

- 214 

- 228 

- 243 

- 257 

- 271 

- 291 

- 305 


SARAH DAKOTA 


CHAPTER I. 

THE MISTRESS OF VANDECAR RANCH. 

COR the first time since morning the wild, 
riotous breeze was hushed. Hour after 
hour it had swept in sweet, strong gusts across 
the prairie, shaking the curly, gray buffalo 
grass, bending the gay, purple cone flowers till 
their heads were nearly snapped off, and toss- 
ing little yellow clouds from the sandy buttes. 

Now, all the wide prairie lay silently sim- 
mering in the heated air of sunset. Crimson 
streaks barred the horizon, and were reflected 
earthward till the plains were all aflush with 
rose and amethyst. Far eastward the bluffs 
marking the course of the Big Muddy stood out 
bold and clear, their bases in rich umber shad- 
ows, their irregular summits tipped with gold. 
Nearer a fringe of trees, blackly outlined 
against the rosy horizon, indicated a smaller 
stream — the Rollingstone River. 

The trees themselves were nothing remarka- 


8 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


ble. To an Easterner — to one accustomed to 
graceful maples and elms and stately pines and 
hemlocks, they were not worthy of much 
praise. The grove was composed of cotton- 
woods, their ghostly, white trunks standing up 
in gaunt awkwardness, and diamond willows, 
gashed and hacked here and there, where some 
wandering Sioux had cut off splinters and slices 
from which he might whittle canes to sell to 
travelers in the “fire wagons/ ' as the Red 
Man termed the palace cars of the Northern 
Pacific Railroad. 

Nevertheless, the grove of cottonwoods was 
much admired by the surrounding settlers, and 
the ' owner of Rollingstone Ranch was envied 
not a little for the wind-break against the roar- 
ing northern blasts and the screen from the al- 
most tropical rays of the midday sun which the 
grove nearly surrounding his buildings afforded. 
In front an opening had been cut, showing a 
sandy slope down to the river, and at the same 
time revealing an extensive view of the prairie. 

The ranch itself was generally a scene of ac- 
tivity. Being a post trading station, it was 
frequented by a motley crowd. Farmers came 
hither to bring produce, receive their mail, and 
get the latest news as to prices for wheat ; cow- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


9 


boys dropped in for lariats and hitching pins ; 
Indians came for their supplies, or brought for 
sale gay-colored work of beads or porcupine 
quills and calumets of red pipestone. Much 
good-natured gossip went on between the white 
men, and there was many an exchange of kind- 
hearted courtesies and generous deeds. Friend- 
ships were made here, and some broken. Some- 
times, we are sorry to say, there were disagree- 
ments and violent quarrels, as might be expected 
from a place where liquor flowed so freely. 

On this particular afternoon, however, quiet- 
ness reigned at the ranch. The slanting rays 
of the setting sun brightened the dull red roof 
of the store into gayest vermilion. In the cool 
shade of the building sat Eric, the Norwegian 
hired man, his long, flaxen hair almost touch- 
ing the piece of harness he was mending. The 
door behind him was wide open, and cool 
breezes swept across the damp floor within 
which he had just swept and sprinkled. A 
glance into the long stables at the left revealed 
everything clean and sweet with the odors of 
hay and grain. Most of the stalls were empty, 
for the horses were out on the range, but here 
and there a solitary animal might be heard 
leisurely crunching its feed. 


10 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Crossing the broad, sandy yard one reached 
the grove in which stood the Yandecar Ranch 
proper — a long line of irregularly shaped build- 
ings, all of them low, and composed of rough 
logs. Sods covered the roofs of several, and 
on top in late summer gay sunflowers flaunted 
their broad, yellow faces, and Indian corn 
waved its silken tassels. Kitchen, dining room, 
and bedrooms were all strung out, one after the 
other, a broad veranda making a continuous 
highway from door to door. 

In the kitchen Etienne, the French Canadian 
cook, a lean, limber fellow, with a face as sal- 
low and sharp as a hickory nut, sat perched up 
by the table. His white cap was awry; his 
usually immaculate apron had black spots on it. 
Etienne was laboriously creating a letter to be 
sent to his sweetheart, a black-eyed and rather 
ancient demoiselle , far up in rocky Quebec. 

Usually Etienne coaxed Sarah Dakota to 
write his letters for him. But Sarah Dakota 
was not to be found this evening. 

Dandy, her Indian pony, had long ago finish- 
ed his oats down in the stable, and was rubbing 
his shaggy mane against the side of his manger, 
wondering why his mistress did not come for 
her customary canter in the cool eventide. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


11 


But, as it happened, Sarah Dakota was busy 
about something else. 

In the long row of connected apartments 
there was one which the members of the ranch 
seldom entered. Occasionally, on a Sunday 
afternoon, or on a stormy day when the weather 
compelled one to remain indoors, Colonel 
Chauncey Vandecar, the owner of the ranch, 
would shut himself up in this room, remaining 
there an hour or more, sitting in utter silence, 
or else monotonously pacing the floor, coming 
forth with his handsome, bronzed face strangely 
worn and white. 

It had been the room of his dead wife — that 
pretty, young creature, the life of his home, the 
sunshine of his heart, who had been taken from 
him twelve years before our story begins. 

It was to this room that Sarah Dakota, his 
only child, had, half-timidly, half-eagerly, gone 
that warm afternoon. And there she sat now, 
with all the glory of the sunset flooding the 
small, narrow window, making the faded cham- 
ber curtains look like richest stained glass, and 
changing the bits of dust floating around the 
room into a swarm of golden gnats. 

There was a strange incongruity throughout 
the entire apartment. The walls, like those of 


12 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


the rest of the house, were of logs, their chinks 
and furrows filled up with the roughest plaster- 
ing. There was neither paint nor paper any- 
where to be seen, and time had worn the wood- 
work into a subdued, silvery gray. But, bright- 
ening this primitive plainness, were draperies of 
rich hues and material — silk and satin, em- 
broidered with velvet and outlined in gold and 
silver tinsel. Costly rugs on the floor, green 
and soft as moss one finds in deep, dark wood- 
lands ; pictures on the walls ; easy chairs here 
and there betokened comfort and luxury. In 
one corner stood the bed, of oak, elaborately 
carved and with a canopy of amber silk. Its 
linen pillows were yellow and dusty; no head 
had pressed them for years. Everything was 
left just as she had left it. Over on the little 
willow table was her workbasket, and in it the 
tiny blue and white sacque she had been mak- 
ing for her baby daughter when that last illness 
came. 

Sarah Dakota took the little garment in her 
hands to-day, thrusting her two brown fore- 
fingers into the wee armholes. 

“ That was for me, I reckon/’ she said so- 
berly. “It don’t seem as though I was ever 
such a scrap of a young one as to wear that ! 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


13 


I wonder if my mother liked to make things for 
me. My! but it’d be nice to have a mother 
make things now! Most girls I've read of 
have mothers. Wonder why mine was taken 
away ! ’ ’ 

She laid the soft, little garment back again 
carefully, almost reverently, and then sat there 
silently, her chin in the hollow of her hand. 

She was a queer girl, was this Sarah Dakota 
— as queer as the name which her father had 
whimsically given her in honor of the Territory 
where his life and interests were tied. 

He had been a pioneer there. He had come 
away back in the seventies, in the days of Cus- 
ter, when it was as much as one’s life and scalp 
were worth to ride stealthily under cover of 
night across the prairies over which he now gal- 
loped as owner. He was a brave man, was 
Colonel Chauncey Vandecar. True, it was not 
the best kind of bravery — that which makes one 
do right in the face of all things opposing — it 
was the bravery that is physical rather than 
moral. Yet it won for him the love of his 
friends and the respect of his enemies. 

He had led a bold, careless, but not wicked 
life, according to the code of the times and the 
Territory. He was called sharp at a bargain, 


14 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


but fair-dealing in the carrying of it out. He 
was very proud of his business honor, and at the 
same time proud of the fact that, as he said, 
“no other fellows got ahead” of him. His 
strong will and aggressive nature gave him suc- 
cess under difficulties where another man — a 
weaker one — would have failed. 

At the time our story begins he was reputed 
to be one of the wealthiest men in the Terri- 
tory. Section and quarter section he had laid 
claim to. Thousands of cattle bearing his 
brand roamed over the prairies. His ranch 
buildings, as we have already stated, were on 
an extensive scale. 

So, being the daughter of a wealthy man — a 
man whose income was not put to any hazard 
by drought or frosted wheat — Sarah Dakota's 
lot was considered enviable by the girls of the 
surrounding country. 

But, as we have said, she was queer — like her 
name. She was thin, agile, long-limbed, like a 
young colt. Her outdoor life had given her 
health, vigor, and a strong, erect figure. She 
had her father's haughty fashion of carrying 
the head well back on the shoulders. She had, 
too, his bright, dark, hazel eyes. Her hair, 
though, differed from his. Instead of being 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


15 


black and straight, it was of that indescribable 
color that comes from auburn and chestnut 
shadings, with copper-colored threads and sun- 
shiny glintings woven in it. A great mass of it 
there was, too ! She could never braid it in 
two stiff, decorous pigtails, like those of the 
German and Norwegian girls in the neighbor- 
hood. Sarah Dakota’s hair was always break- 
ing loose from nets, combs, and ribbons, and 
flying around her like an amber cloud. 

It half-veiled her face now, as she sat there 
in her mother's room, and a glimpse through the 
shining tresses revealed her countenance — seri- 
ous, perplexed, as if the consciousness of some 
great loss in her life had suddenly come to her. 

A day or two before this, Sarah Dakota had 
gone to her father with a request, half-roguish- 
ly, half-pleadingly made : 

4 ‘You dear, old pappy, you! I want some 
new dresses ! My navy-blue silk is in tatters, 
and my garnet doesn’t look a bit like the pic- 
tures in the fashion book you brought from 
town last week. My woolen frocks have got 
their trimmin’s ripped off or buttons missin’ ; 
an’, honest true ! I haven’t a single thing fit to 
wear except my new riding habit, and you 
know I can't go trailing around in that!” 


16 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


From his tall, soldierly height Colonel Van- 
decar looked down on the merry, upturned 
face. There was a thoughtful expression on 
his own countenance, and as he resumed his 
whistling, just interrupted by his daughter’s re- 
quest, there was an added reflective tone to it. 

“ New dresses, hey? Seems to me it takes 
as many yards of dry goods to fix you up as 
it would the whole Territory which you are 
named for !” 

“That’s so, pappy dear! I’m growin’ so 
fast, you know ! It isn’t my fault that I have 
such a great, tall father that I am in duty bound 
to take after! You ought to be thankful that 
I’m not yet quite as tall ! You’d take almost 
as much dry goods for drapery as that big 
statue East — in New York, isn’t it? — of what’s 
you call it? Liberty Enlightening the World?” 
And with her fresh face dimpling and her 
hazel eyes full of dancing, golden lights, Sarah 
Dakota surveyed the tall riding boots, with 
faded brown corduroy trousers tucked in their 
tops, and the broad, portly chest, long neck, and 
massive head of her sire. 

“Well, you are catching up pretty fast!” 
said her father, half-ruefully, half-admiringly. 
“You are running up like wheat in a warm 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


17 


rain ! You are a pretty big girl for a lone man 
like me to take care of, and I’m beginning to 
realize that I’ve got a pretty stiff job in bring- 
ing you up! That’s a fact, now!” 

“0, you needn’t worry, pappy dear!” 
gayly. “Just give me plenty to eat and a 
pony to ride and all the pretty dresses I want, 
an’ I’ll get along all right!” 

“But seems to me,” gravely; “seems to 
me, since you're growing up so fast, you ought 
to lay aside some of your tomboy ways. I 
think I remember that when I was back East, 
young ladies didn’t dash around like wild In- 
dians. They were — the most of them — quiet 
and demure, and didn’t holler as though they 
wanted their voice to reach away over to the 
next quarter section. And they sat straight on 
their chairs and didn’t swing their feet, and 
when they wanted to get in the house they came 
in through the door instead of vaulting in 
through the window, as I saw a certain young 
person do yesterday. But pretty much of them 
liked fine clothes though, and your speaking of 
new dresses reminds me of something I was 
thinking about the other day. There are some 
— some of your mother’s things” — here 
Colonel Vandecar's voice faltered a little. 

2 


18 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


* * They have been stored away in the big ward- 
robe in her room. Some of them were very 
nice, I remember. Your mother liked pretty 
things, and — and I was glad to give them to 
her. There must be several silks there, and 
other gowns of fine material. I always got the 
best for her. I had a pride about it. But what 
I was going to say is this, now that you are get- 
ting so big, you might as well have the things 
made over for you. I dare say you can make 
use of them. You have” — here the Colonel 
stammered a little — “you have a better right 
than — than anybody else.” 

“An* you want me to have them?” said 
Sarah Dakota rather soberly, somewhat im- 
pressed by her father’s grave, discomposed 
manner. 

“Yes. I know your ma ’d want it so. 
An’ ” — hesitatingly — “ an’ perhaps you’d bet- 
ter have ’em made over soon. If they are faded 
or moth-eaten, why I’ll get you new clothes ; 
but, as I said, I thought your ma ’d like to have 
you make use of these if you could. An’ I 
don't want you to go around shabby. I want 
you fixed up nice. Have it done right away. 
We — we may have company or something, 
soon,” and, turning abruptly, Colonel Vande- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


19 


car stepped out on the broad veranda, and 
paced nervously up and down. 

“I meant to tell the child/ ’ he soliloquized. 
“ I meant to tell her, but I can’t just yet. 
Sarah Dakota’s so — so peculiar, there’s no 
knowin’ how she’d take it.” 

Thus it was that on the afternoon our story 
begins the young girl came to be in her dead 
mother’s room, examining the contents of the 
big, black walnut wardrobe. 

A dozen or so of gowns lay scattered about 
— on the bed, across the backs of chairs. All 
of them were of costly and elegant material — 
silks and satins, velvets and heavy brocades. 
And there were laces, fans and feathers, rib- 
bons and trinkets of various sorts. 

The wedding gown lay across Sarah Dako- 
ta’s knees. It was a cream-tinted satin, trimmed 
with lace filmy as cobwebs. The scent of vio- 
lets still clung to it. 

Sarah Dakota found other things besides 
clothes. On a shelf in one corner of the ward- 
robe were some books. One of them was her 
mother’s journal. Many of the leaves were 
missing; others torn and discolored. With 
more awe and reverence than she had ever be- 
fore experienced in her short, gay, careless life, 


20 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


the girl turned over page after page. The one 
at which she paused the longest was the one 
which caused her face to assume the thought- 
ful, yearning look we have mentioned : 

“June 18, 188-. 

“ It is a beautiful morning. The sky is like 
crystal, and the fresh, sweet air seems to fairly 
palpitate with golden sunshine. All the prairie 
is covered with wild roses. Not the tall, climb- 
ing ones, though, like the ones I used to find 
by the stone wall at the old farm. These are 
not much more than a foot high. They are in 
all shades of red, from palest pink to deepest 
carmine. Their delicious fragrance floats in at 
the window as I sit here. 

“ This has been an unusually happy day. 
Something like the blessed Sabbaths of my 
girlhood. We have had religious services at 
the ranch. Father Stone officiated, and many 
of the farmers came with their wives and chil- 
dren. They all seemed so kind. It touched 
me to see how sorrowfully those stout, red- 
cheeked, strong-armed women looked at me. 
I knew they were pitying me because it is said 
that I must die so soon. I longed to tell them 
that it didn’t seem at all terrible to me. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


21 


‘ ‘ The only thing I worry about — and that I 
do with most heavy-hearted anxiety — is my little 
daughter. How can I leave my baby. Only 
two years old, a girl, and in this wild, half-civ- 
ilized community. Last night when they un- 
dressed her and laid her in my lap, I took her 
rosy, dimpled feet in my hands and cried over 
them. 0, those dear, little feet! How tired 
they will get among the thorns and flints of this 
world. If I might live and smooth the path- 
way for them. But God knows best. I keep 
saying that over and over again. 

“My prayer day and night is that my little 
girl may grow up to be a good, noble woman. 
I think — nay, I know ! with the inward assur- 
ance of the Comforter — that my prayer will be 
answered. We had her christened to-day. I 
coaxed Chauncey to have it done. He does not 
care much for such things; I wish he did. He 
granted my request, however, and granted it 
very kindly. He means to be good to me. I 
was so thankful for it that I made no objec- 
tions to the middle name he wanted to give her 
— Dakota ! The idea of giving the name of a 
vast Territory to such a wee bit of a child. But 
Chauncey is such an enthusiast over this new 
country. All his interests are centered here. 


22 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


I’m glad he never knew how homesick I have 
been here. How I have longed for the beauti- 
ful green valley of the winding Mohawk. But 
nowl shall have something even better. 

‘“I am far frae my hame, an’ I’m weary aftenwhiles 
For the longed-for hame-bringin’ an’ my Father’s wel- 
come smiles, 

An’ I’ll ne’er be fu’ content until mine een do see 
The gowden gates o’ heaven an’ mine ain countree! ’ ” 

She had reached her 4 * ain countree 99 long 
years before this, had the patient, trusting, lov- 
ing mother, and now the words she had written 
so feebly, but so fondly, came back to her 
child like a veritable message from the spirit 
land. 

There was a little Bible on the same shelf 
with the journal. Its cover was a bright cherry 
red. It was a cheerful-looking book the young 
girl thought, and when she opened it she saw 
her own name written on the flyleaf: “ Sarah 
Dakota — a baptismal gift from Father Stone.” 

It was veritable Greek to the girl; or, at 
least, it might as well have been written in that 
language for all the intelligence it gave her as 
she hastily glanced through its pages. No little 
South Sea islander knew less of the Bible than 
this bright, well-grown Western girl ! Colonel 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


23 


Vandecar had let her grow up ignorant of re- 
ligion, of church-going, of reading the word of 
God, and of prayer. Either grief had hard- 
ened his heart, or the memory of his wife's 
prayerful desires had grown dim ; or, what was 
more likely, his busy, “ rustling " life, the daily 
contact and dealing with bold, lawless men, 
had made him careless of spiritual things. Sa- 
rah Dakota turned over leaf after leaf of the 
little red Bible, her only emotions being wonder 
or mild perplexity as to what the reading was 
about. It wasn't exactly a book of poetry, 
though some things sounded like it. It wasn't 
a novel either, though it was really exciting here 
and there. Sarah Dakota didn't dip very 
deeply into the strange book, but she came to 
the conclusion that there was a great deal about 
God and Christ in it, and, as she remarked to 
herself with native bluntness : 

“An' I never heard much about them only 
at roundin'-up times, when the cowboys tear 
around an' use swear words." 

Her mother must have thought a good deal 
about God and heaven and such things, the girl 
decided. The journal was full of these things. 
What a good woman that mother must have been. 

Her picture hung over the bureau. It was a 


24 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


sweet, youthful face, with gentle, tender mouth, 
serious, loving, blue eyes, and hair like her 
daughter’s, rich and warm in color. 

Sarah Dakota sat looking at the picture. 
There was a dull ache in her heart. 

“I wish she had lived!” she exclaimed 
earnestly, with a choke in her voice. “ O, I 
wish she had lived !” 

The glory of the sunset filled the room. It 
brought out the rich colors of the pretty gowns 
scattered about — violet, sea green, creamy 
white, blue, and silvery gray. It fell like a halo 
over the portrait on the wall, and it touched 
Sarah Dakota's hair with amber glintings. 

Just as it was fading away, there was a noise 
on the veranda outside. Etienne had come out 
from the kitchen and was peeling potatoes for 
supper. His shrill, high-pitched voice was 
chattering away, as usual, in broken patois , with 
slow, stolid Eric as listener. 

‘ * Ze rain come soon, ’ ’ he said. * 4 Ze cotton- 
wood he rustle all his leedle flat stems. And see 
ze clouds over south, andze wind give von grand 
coyote howl ! ’ ’ 

“Can’t tell nodings about de vind,” growled 
Eric. “ Dis is a queer gountry. He gloud up, 
and von t’ink shower coom, und den a pig vind 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


25 


he coom, strong enough to make von pall- 
headed mit himselfs, und blow de glouds avay. 
Here ve haf vone, two, t’ree veeks mitout a 
drop of rain. In mine gountry it beest nod so, ' ' 
complacently. 

But, with Celtic versatility, Etienne’s mind 
had already wandered to a subject other than 
the climatic changes of Dakota. 

“Do you know where's ze boss, Colonel 
Vandecar, this afternoon?” he asked. 

Eric gave a guttural chuckle. 

“Veil, about two o'glock I seen him take de 
gray mare und ride toward de Fort Lincoln 
road. He goes dere already all de viles nowa- 
days.” 

Etienne shoved aside the heap of potatoes 
and drew nearer his companion. His voice took 
a confidential tone. His whispers sounded like 
a hoarse locust. 

Eric listened and nodded, saying little. 

Somebody else was listening. Sarah Dakota, 
seated behind the curtains of the open window, 
heard every word of the vivacious gossip. 


CHAPTER II. 


WHAT THE LISTENER HEARD. 

U O HE is not rich at all, is zis lady ze Colonel 
^ marry, ’ ’ babbled Etienne ; ‘ ‘ but I think 
she’s sweet and good. You've seen her, Eric — 
that leedle Mees Grayson, the sister of Lieuten- 
ant Harter’s wife at ze fort. She coom visit- 
ing there over a year ago ; then she got inter- 
ested in ze Indian school and go to ze Reserva- 
tion and teach. They say she vary much liked 
there. She have avay with her — so attracteeve. 
I have seen handsomer ladies by far. Magni- 
fiquement ! Tall, majesteek, charming, avec les 
beaux yeux ! Ladies that .set ze heart in one 
big flutter. Mam’selle Grayson not so. She 
have a pretty leedle face and gentle manners, 
and her voice sveet and low, and yet full of 
what you call autoritay. Ze Colonel he no- 
tice her more than any other lady since his wife 
she die. 0, I t’ink it one vary good thing — ze 
Colonel’s getting marry, I mean. We need a 
meestress to ze ranch. Old Antonia, she get- 
ting stiff and rheumateek, and so blind she can’t 
tell buffalo grass from herbs when she make 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


27 


pot-ciu-feu. She getting so vary c-cr-r-ranky, 
and she like to rule the ranch and treat me as 
though I were a scullery lad. Oui! oui! Roll- 
ingstone Ranch surely need a meestress. Be- 
sides, there’s leedle Mees Sarah Dakota; she 
running vild like a colt on ze range. She big 
girl now, but got no style, no manner. Not 
know ze etiquette von bit ! ” 

“ She is a girl mit a gute heart,” remarked 
Eric. 

“Oui! oui! I have nothing to objeck to 
zat. She good girl, but sometimes she not 
care how much fun she make,” rejoined Eti- 
enne, smarting at the memory of certain jokes 
played at his expense. She like to play vat you 
call ze pranks ; but vat I meant to say, she big 
enough now to be ladylike and have ze decorum 
and grace. But all ze company we have is ze 
men folks. Nothings but Indians, cowboys, and 
ze old c-cr-r-ranky Antonia.” 

“Vat she say apout dis affair — de bringin’ 
home de new mutter?” 

Etienne’s voice had a thrill of dramatic en- 
joyment in it as he answered. He drew his 
spare shoulders almost to his ears in an ex- 
pressive shrug. 

“ Malheur sement ! She know nothings. Her 


28 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


father have kept it von big secret. Mees Sarah 
Dakota have a temper, you know, Eric, mon 
ami. You and I have seen her act like a leedle 
wildcat when somethings not please her. So, 
between you and me, Eric, I think Colonel Van- 
decar not like to tell her." 

“And the wedding is this evening down at 
the fort, and de Colonel pring home his new 
wife so soon?" exclaimed Eric, with a touch of 
pity in his deep voice. 

“ Oui ! But there won't be much of a wed- 
ding though, because the Major's wife at the 
fort is sick, and the affair will be vary quiet. 
But next veek, so I vas told, Colonel Vandecar 
will give a reception here at the ranch, and I 
dare say we shall have feasting without end. 
The Colonel say he give me carte blanche , and 
so I go to town the last of this week to buy 
things. Eh bicn ! It is von lot of cookery I 
have to do." And, with a sigh of heavy re- 
sponsibility, Etienne arose, tossed out his panful 
of parings to a vagrant cow, and then went back 
to his kitchen. 

Eric knocked the ashes from his pipe, and 
went clumsily down the steps around to the 
sheds in search of pails for the evening milk- 
ing. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


29 


There was silence in the room where the win- 
dow opened out on the piazza. Sarah Dakota 
still sat there — or crouched, rather — in a dis- 
consolate little heap upon the floor. The 
creamy wedding dress had slipped from her 
lap and lay in billowy rumples around her. 
Now and then her brown fingers convulsively 
clutched the silken mass. She was hardly con- 
scious of what she was doing. The soft, pink 
flush was gone from her cheeks. Her girlish 
face looked white and pinched ; her eyes were 
hard, stern, and, as yet, tearless. She was too 
stunned to cry. Such a terrible revelation had 
come to her ! Some one — a stranger — was to 
come between her and the place she held in her 
father's love ! Some one was to usurp her 
mother's place — that dear, dead mother, toward 
whom she had that very afternoon been drawn 
so near ! Some one was to come into Rolling- 
stone Ranch as mistress of it — a position that 
she was now conscious that she had rather 
proudly held ! Some one was to order the serv- 
ants, make plans — be at the head of the entire 
establishment ! 

“ 0, I hate that Miss Grayson,” said Sarah 
Dakota tempestuously. “She was at the 
Fourth of July picnic. One of those prim, 


30 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


proper Easterners who always carry a gram- 
mar and dictionary around with them, and rub- 
bers and umbrellas and veils and looked sur- 
prised and shocked at everything we say or do. 
I remember she tried to be pleasant with me, 
but somehow I felt gawky and awkward and 
ignorant with her. I didn’t get on very well 
with her. I know I sha’n’t if she comes here; 
there won’t be a bit of use in trying. I don’t 
want anybody for my mother — only you, you ! ” 
with a hot burst of tears and a glance at the por- 
trait above her, which seemed to smile in the 
deepening twilight. 

“0, it is too bad!” Sarah Dakota went on; 
“too bad to bring anyone here to fill your 
place, you dear, sweet, pretty mother ! I dare 
say pappy didn’t tell me because he thought I’d 
bluster — and so I would,” fiercely. “So I 
would ! He needn’t think that I’ll give up and 
make peace and fall in with this scheme, 
either,” sullenly. “ I’ll just let him and that 
Grayson schoolma’am know how I feel about 
it! Cornin’ here to-night, are they? Well!” 
— and the girl’s lips were compressed into a 
thin, scarlet line — “well, they’ll find that 
there’s been a stampede here, that’s all!” 
And Sarah Dakota ended her passionate solilo- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


31 


quy with a Westernism that seemed most ex- 
pressive of her proposed course of action. 

She began hastily to gather up the dresses 
scattered throughout the room. One by one 
she folded them, more carefully than might be 
expected from a person untrained to such 
womanly tasks. Now and then great tears 
rolled down on the lustrous silks. 

“ Perhaps/ ’ she said bitterly as she wrapped 
the yellow linen sheet around the pile of gowns, 
“perhaps pappy’ll feel called upon to take 
back his promise of givin’ these to me. Maybe 
my new mamma,”- scornfully, “ will want them 
herself. If I thought so, truly, I'd slit them 
with the scissors or burn ’em! But,” with sad 
pride, “pappy is a man of his word. He 
wouldn’t take back what he’d given me. 0, 
pappy ! pappy!” and from out the gloom of 
the room came the sound of low sobbing. 

The storm did not last long, however. Sarah 
Dakota was capable of great self-control when 
she chose to exert it, and when, a quarter of an 
hour later, she went into the dining room and 
sat down at the table, nothing but her red eye- 
lids told of past emotion. 

Old Antonia, occupied with her own ail- 
ments and duties, failed to notice anything. 


32 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Antonia was grumbling, as usual, as she 
brought in the dinner. It was a favorite 
pastime with her. She was an odd-looking 
creature — a lean, brown half-breed, her 
straight, black hair plentifully besprinkled with 
gray, and with a gay, red handkerchief tied 
over it. Very ignorant and bigoted, very tena- 
cious of her own rights, very intolerant of the 
opinion of other people was Antonia, but she 
was honest and faithful to her employer. She 
had been a tender nurse to Sarah Dakota, 
though her alternating moods of petulance and 
over-indulgence had not been the best kind of 
training for the young girl. 

“That Etienne has no more sense than a 
gopher !” she exclaimed, as she placed a huge 
platter containing a roast rabbit before her little 
mistress, and flanked it by dishes of mealy, 
white potatoes and luscious sweet corn. “Any 
one would think we had stomachs like the 
Gros Ventres /” (Antonia never considered 
her own blood Indian blood, but always spoke 
contemptuously of the dusky-skinned race.) 
“Here's your father gone away, and, like as 
not, he’ll get his supper somewheres else, and 
Etienne’s cooked enough for a regiment! In- 
sisted on making a suet pudding, though there 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


33 


was a pie and a half left from yesterday. And, 
when my back was turned, the idiot slipped in 
here and put on the best damask tablecloth and 
the silverware, and, when I took him to task, 
he only grinned and said, ‘ Maybe we might 
have company drop in.’ The idea!" and 
Antonia sniffed scornfully. 

It could not be denied that the dining room 
had a festive air. It was a long, low apart- 
ment, its walls and ceiling roughly plastered, as 
were the other rooms. The knotty floor was 
painted a dark wine color, against which the 
gray and white furs made a fine contrast, as did 
the magnificent silver-tipped grizzly skin, with 
its sharp claws and ugly muzzle. Mounted on 
the wall at one end was a'fine head of a Rocky 
Mountain sheep, while at the other an elk, with 
branching horns, served as a rack for head- 
gear and rifles. 

There was a fireplace in the corner, and a 
few sticks of scrub oak and cottonwood were 
blazing cheerily, their warmth being very agree- 
able, for, now that the sun was down, the 
evening air had grown rather chilly. There 
were Indian trinkets here and there — bows and 
arrows, with flinty barbs and winged with gay- 
colored feathers. There were red sandstone 
3 


34 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


calumets, moccasins, and buckskin tobacco 
pouches. 

A faint, delicious flavor mingled with the 
savory odor of the viands on the table. It came 
from a great bunch of cone flowers which Eti- 
enne had gathered and placed in a large, curi- 
ously shaped jar of Zuni or Aztec pottery. 
The flowers, with their soft, maroon, velvety 
centers and fringe of lavender and deep purple 
petals, made a fine contrast to the bunch of 
goldenrod standing near them. The gay colors 
of the blossoms, the red flashes from the fire, 
the gleam of the old-fashioned silverware on the 
bountifully spread table, made the room at- 
tractive. At another time, perhaps, Sarah Da- 
kota would have appreciated the brightness; 
just now these things brought an added bitter- 
ness to her unhappy frame of mind. She ate 
and drank in sullen silence, quite unmindful of 
Antonia’s garrulous tongue. 

After the meal was finished she slipped out 
doors. It was not very dark yet. Westward 
the sky was still faintly luminous from the sun- 
set. The moon was rising ; it was not as bright 
as usual with the wonderful radiance that one 
sees in Dakota. A fleece of light clouds was 
gathering over its surface and spreading over 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


35 


the sky. The wind came now and then in little 
warm puffs from the south ; the air smelt of 
rain. The waters of the Rollingstone sounded 
loud and clear. 

Sarah Dakota ran swiftly over the little 
stretch of sandy yard between the house and 
the stables. Her footfalls made no sound on 
the soft sand. She went into the stable where 
Dandy, her pet pony, was kept. He greeted 
her with a welcoming whinny. 

Feeling her way in the dark she came to him, 
put her arms around his neck, and buried her 
face in his shaggy mane. 

“ Dandy, dear, you're all I've got now," 
she half sobbed. 

Groping around she found her sidesaddle 
and placed it on the animal, drawing up the 
cinch with a practiced hand. 

“Now wait here, that's a good fellow," she 
said softly, patting him. “ I’ll come back in a 
few minutes." 

She ran up to the house. By the light flash- 
ing in yellow squares from the kitchen window 
she saw Etienne skipping around brisk as a 
cricket, his tongue clattering away to Eric, who 
sat smoking and dozing. 

In the dining room old Antonia sat by the 


36 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


fire. . The old woman was mumbling to herself 
while she laboriously darned Colonel Vande- 
car’s socks, a duty which Sarah Dakota herself 
should have performed, but which she often 
neglected, having little friendship for needle or 
thimble. 

The old woman was crossly mumbling to 
herself. She called out, half-querulously, half- 
tenderly, as the young girl passed through the 
hall : 

‘ ‘ Great news has Etienne been telling me ! 
It seems he had a reason for cooking all the 
things he did this evening. He’s keeping some 
of them warm now, to be ready when your father 
comes home. And what do you think, little 
one, the Colonel is going to bring home a new 
mother for you. Poor child ! I guess you 
won’t relish that, for it’ll make a difference — a 
great difference, I can tell you. We’ll all have 
to stand around now — all of us. Old Antonia, 
with her rheumatic bones ; and that easy-going, 
stuttering Eric (who is not so bad after all, if 
he wasn’t so stupid) ; and that chattering Eti- 
enne, with his parley-vooing and his airs and 
flourishes. I’m not sorry for him. He can 
stand it, the shrugging, gabbling goose. But 
you — it’ll be hardest for you, my poor lamb. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


37 


You’re so used to having your own way. But 
never mind. Don't be cast down. Old An- 
tonia’ll stand by ye. Come here. Pig’s rib! 
— where’s the child?” 

For Sarah Dakota had gone. 

She was in her own little room, putting on 
her warm, dark, riding skirt. 

She gathered a few of her trinkets into a 
small package. She had some money, too; 
her father was always generous. “I’m glad I 
haven’t spent it all,” she said, “for I shall need 
every cent if I have to make my own way in the 
world.” 

She took her mother’s journal and also the 
little red Bible. 

“I’m not taking that for the reading,” she 
said, a bit defiantly, as her hand touched the 
latter. “ It says so much about forgiving, 
peacemaking, and such things. Maybe folks 
East can believe and follow out what it says, 
but folks here I guess are different. Maybe 
it’s because we don’t have many churches or 
preaching, or have got to ‘ rustle ’ so much — I 
don’t know. That little red Bible book is very 
queer. It’s kind of interesting, though, and — 
and it was given to me when I was a baby, and 
somehow I think my — my mother would like to 


38 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


have me read it. So I'm goin’ to take it 
along." 

Down stairs again, and softly now, she went 
out on the veranda, across the sandy yard to 
the stable where Dandy stood, expectantly 
waiting. She untied him and led him out to the 
horse block, when she mounted him. Once in 
the saddle, and with her foot in the slipper stir- 
rup, her spirits rose. Yet, as she paused a 
minute and looked toward the ranch with its 
row of lighted windows and cheerful interior, 
there came a great tugging at her heart- 
strings. 

“0, dear, I’ve had such nice times there!" 
she exclaimed chokingly. “ Real nice times! 
I don’t think any king’s daughter could have 
been more happy. But good times don’t last 
long. Nothing seems to in this world — mother 
or father, or trust or happiness, or anything. 
Well, I suppose I might stay at the ranch, and 
be prim and proper, and be bossed around, and 
play second fiddle; but I ska tit- — so, there!" 
And there came a sudden and vigorous flick of 
the whip against Dandy’s flanks, so that he 
started off at a loping rate. 

Over the sand they went — Sarah Dakota and 
her Indian pony — through the grove and along 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


39 


the narrow trail winding over butte and 
prairie. 

It seemed much lighter when she got away 
from the shadow of the trees. There was a cer- 
tain elation at the thought of escaping a disa- 
greeable ordeal. There was a wild freedom in 
galloping unattended, and with all who knew 
her ignorant of her escapade. Before her 
stretched the broad plain, silver white in the 
moonlight save where the grotesque, ebon bluffs 
cast their reflected outlines. Toward the north 
and east the sky was of a clear, dark purple, 
with sprinkling of stars. In the west and south, 
however, there were clouds arising in little 
fluffy patches, silver-tipped at their edges and 
blending into dark gray masses near the hori- 
zon. The wind was rising, too. Its wings bore 
a scent of sweet dampness. 

A half hour passed, and then Sarah Dakota 
drew up sharply on the rein, and Dandy, sud- 
denly ceasing his mad gallop, she exclaimed in 
tones of mingled amusement and vexation : 

“I declare, I believe it's goin’ to rain. 
What makes it do it to-night of all times? 
Hasn't a drop fallen for three weeks, but now I 
suppose there’ll be a regular deluge. This 
Territory doesn’t do things by halves, and when 


40 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


we have a rain it’s pretty sure to be a real wet 
one. Heigh-ho ! It isn’t the first time that 
we’ve been caught in a shower, is it, Dandy?” 
patting her pony. ‘ ‘ But I must say we’ve never 
been out at night all alone. There comes the 
wind,” as a great gust swept down through 
a long line of buttes. Then there was a sharp 
flash of lightning, illuminating the prairie for 
miles, followed by a deafening peal of thunder; 
then a black mass of clouds blotted out the white 
moonlight, and down came the rain in great 
sheets. 

Dandy snorted, shook his shaggy mane, and 
sprang forward in a nervous, zigzag way, as 
though he were rather loath to proceed and was 
wondering at the folly of his little mistress in 
coming out in such a storm. In spite of his 
sturdy Indian breed he knew that a comfortable 
stable and a full manger were a fair exchange 
for wild wanderings in the storm tempest. 

Sarah Dakota pushed her wind-tossed locks 
from her wet forehead and tried to peer into the 
darkness. 

“Why, I can’t see the trail one bit!” she 
exclaimed, after a vivid flash of lightning. “I 
was sure that we were on it, but now it really 
seems as though we had wandered away. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


41 


Dandy, you've been over to dear old Mrs. 
Berg's so often that I thought I could trust you 
to take me there without any trouble. But it 
seems you can’t. I always told pappy that you 
didn’t have the mind that Beauty, my old white 
pony had. He wouldn't have lost his way, even 
in a blizzard.” 

Dandy sprang forward again, as if stung by 
her criticisms. His sharp little hoofs made no 
sound now on the soft, rain-soaked sod. He 
snuffed the air eagerly; his ears stood up 
straight and alert. He broke into a steady trot 
in a straight, unswerving course. 

“ Guess he knows where he is now,” said 
Sarah Dakota, settling herself more comforta- 
bly in the saddle. “We must be gettin' near 
Mrs. Berg’s, and I’m real glad, for I am com- 
pletely drenched, and the wind is getting 
chilly. Yes, we must be near Mrs. Berg’s. 
Dandy, you are a first-rate fellow, after all.” 

It is to be regretted that Dandy didn’t de- 
serve this compliment. But, perhaps, he was 
not to be blamed that just then there scrambled 
out of the long grass at his feet a snarling dog 
— a mongrel Indian cur — giving a sharp yelp, 
that so startled the pony that he swerved sud- 
denly to one side, and Sarah Dakota, stiff and 


42 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


tired, found herself tossed from the saddle — 
something which had never happened before. 
Away she tumbled down among the damp, 
knotted grass of a coulee. 

That was not the worst of it, for, as she tried 
to rise to her feet, her head giddy with pain, 
she found that in her fall she had wrenched her 
ankle, and it was powerless to support her. 

Lying there in the little ravine, or coulee , she 
tried to look around her to ascertain where she 
was. The storm was passing away to the east- 
ward. The sky overhead was lighter now. She 
could distinguish objects around her. They had 
an unfamiliar look. The fringed outline of the 
Rollingstone River was not to be seen. The 
prairies were level now, and only to the north- 
ward lay along wall of buttes. Before her stood 
Dandy, plump and quiet, his neck bent in a 
downward curve as he leisurely cropped the 
rain-freshened grass. 

Perhaps it would be well to give his brief 
history. A year before this he had belonged to 
a Sioux Indian, one Long Eyebrow by name, 
who, when considerably under the influence of 
liquor, had traded him off to Colonel Vandecar 
for the munificent sum of seven dollars and 
twenty-five cents! Dandy’s wishes had not 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


43 


been consulted in the transaction. To tell the 
truth, though, he had been quite satisfied with 
his new home. But it was horse nature — in- 
stinct, animal intelligence, whatever you may 
call it — it was that nameless something that 
made him on this particular night, when so 
storm driven, wander away to the tepee of his 
former dusky master. 

And there it stood now — that tepee. Sarah 
Dakota, crouching down among the tall grasses, 
could see the peaked, tentlike structure of poles. 
She could hear the “ flap-flap ” of the tattered 
skins as the wind caught them. She could 
hear, too, the deep-drawn snore of the “ brave " 
sleeping inside. The snore was broken and 
gurgling just now, for the yelping mongrel had 
disturbed the slumbering Sioux, and dreams of 
glorious hunting parties, scalps, and tomahawks 
and warwhoops were broken, and the thorn 
branch which pinned shut the skin door of 
the tepee was drawn aside, and, as the moon 
shone down from the scudding clouds, Sarah 
Dakota saw a copper-colored face peer out — a 
face the ugliness of which did not prevent 
Dandy from giving a whinny of recognition. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HOME OF LONG EYEBROW. 

CARAH DAKOTA was no coward. The 
^ face of a red man was as familiar a sight as 
that of a white man. Not a day passed that 
she did not see some member of the Sioux 
tribe. It was a habit of the braves to hang 
around the ranch buildings. The only formida- 
ble things about them were their dirt and ver- 
min and their everlasting begging. The 
squaws, each with a papoose strapped upon 
her back, wandered around among the cotton- 
woods in the back yard, gathering up the 
empty tin cans which old Antonia, with charm- 
ing abandon, tossed out when the contents had 
been used. The gay, red tomato labels and the 
yellow ones of corn and the verdant string 
beans were esteemed as choice works of art by 
these dusky maids and matrons, and they grati- 
fied this appreciative taste by pasting the labels 
upon the backs and skirts of their dresses or on 
the border of their blankets. 

Thus accustomed to the presence of Indians, 
Sarah Dakota had grown up without fear ; but 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


45 


somehow, out in the darkness of night, the 
dreariness of the prairie, and in the muttering 
storm, the consciousness of her own lonely and 
possibly perilous situation came to her with sud- 
den and overwhelming force, which the glimpse 
of that copper-colored face served not a little to 
increase. 

Should she lay still and await her chance to 
slip away unobserved ? Could she manage to 
catch Dandy's bridle and draw herself upon 
his back? No, her faithless pony was wander- 
ing farther and farther away. He was drawing 
nearer to the tepee. His ears, pricked up, 
looked sharp and black in the pale moonlight. 
He whinnied again, and this time the sound 
was answered by a welcoming grunt from his 
former master. 

Sarah Dakota made one last effort to reach 
the horse. She tried to drag herself along 
through the tall grasses, and, when at last near 
the pony, attempted to again stand upon her 
feet. But her ankle gave a twinge; she could 
not endure the pain, and sank down with a half- 
suppressed groan. 

The owner of the tepee heard the sound. He 
was instantly alert — suspicious as was natural 
to his Indian nature. There was the click of a 


46 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


gun hammer, and a new terror seized Sarah 
Dakota. She knew that many of the Sioux 
had weapons; some of them fine Winchester 
rifles. They were good marksmen, too. What 
if this Indian should fire and kill her ? Who 
would ever know it ? Would her father miss 
her and mourn? Would the new mother feel 
in the least bit sorry? Would they ever find 
her body, or would her bones lie bleached and 
white like those of the buffaloes she had so 
many times seen on the hillocks and in the hol- 
lows of the prairie? 

It was necessary to choose the lesser of two 
evils, and so, in sudden courageous determina- 
tion, she raised herself upon her elbow and 
called out in a clear, well-controlled tone : 

“How, koolah ! ’ ’ (How do you do, friend ! ) 

Instantly there was a babbling of voices 
within the tepee. Children's chatter and a 
woman’s shrill tones mingled with the deep 
gutturals of the brave. The flap of the door 
was thrown wider open, and the Sioux came 
forth and strode toward Sarah Dakota. 

The moon shone down full and clear just 
then, showing the girl’s slight figure and pale 
face. The Indian’s stolid countenance evinced 
considerable surprise at seeing her there. 


SARAH DAKOTA 


47 


“Who be?” was his gruff interrogatory. 

“Do you know Colonel Vandecar, of Roll- 
ingstone Ranch?” Sarah Dakota boldly in- 
quired. 

She hoped that the mention of her father’s 
name would cause her interlocutor to treat her 
with more respect. 

He gave an affirmative grunt. 

“I am his daughter. I got lost in the rain. 
I’m tired and wet and I’ve hurt my foot,” 
she explained. 

The Sioux seemed to comprehend but dimly 
what she meant. He stood staring at her in a 
puzzled, though respectful, way, for did she not 
say that she belonged to Colonel Vandecar, the 
big white chief, with the herds of cattle and 
fine horses and a long row of white men’s tepees, 
wherein were blankets, ammunition, flour, and 
sugar? Long Eyebrow was very fond of sugar. 
Colonel Vandecar had given him a pound of 
loaf sugar once for going on an errand. It was 
good pay, he thought. He hadn’t minded the 
short gallop a bit, but the memory of those de- 
licious square lumps still lingered around his 
tongue and palate. 0, yes! Colonel Vande- 
car was one big chief. But his daughter, this 
little pale-faced squaw, what was she doing out 


48 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


here near his tepee in the storm and darkness? 
Had she come with his pony, the one he had 
sold to the Colonel? He had an added respect 
for that gentleman because of a vague feeling 
that the latter had gotten the best of the bar- 
gain in that horse deal. Seven dollars and 
twenty-five cents — that was very cheap. But, 
then, the sugar. Long Eyebrow always felt 
kindly when he thought of the sugar. 

He tried to smile down at the little daughter 
of the Colonel, but the smile made such a 
funny contortion of his copper-colored face 
that Sarah Dakota didn’t know whether to be 
amused or frightened. Just then Mrs. Long 
Eyebrow emerged from the tepee. Her curi- 
osity could be restrained no longer, and, in 
spite of the fact that she might expect a peremp- 
tory order from her dusky lord and master to re- 
tire to their primitive dwelling, she waddled 
toward him and his little white visitor. 

We say “waddled,” for that is the only word 
fitly describing her gait. Mrs. Long Eyebrow 
was very short in stature, and so blessed with 
fat that her face fairly shone with it, and her 
beady black eyes were so surrounded by creases 
of flesh that they reminded one of raisins in a 
dough pudding. However, it must also be said 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


49 


that this same corpulency had made her quite a 
belle in her Sioux tribe. Her manner was 
much more sprightly than her gait. She was 
intelligent, too, and seemed to take in far 
more quickly than her husband the entire situa- 
tion. 

“ Ugh!” she exclaimed, patting Sarah Da- 
kota’s back. “Pony ‘bucked’ in the storm, 
and he threw off leedle fire-haired papoose.” 
(This compliment referring to the girl’s tumbled 
auburn tresses.) “Hurt foot? Ugh! Too bad ! 
Me carry you — so ! ’ ’ And before Sarah Dakota 
hardly knew it, she found herself lifted in a 
pair of plump arms and carried out of the 
drizzling rain into the tepee and laid upon a pile 
of skins. 

It seemed pleasant to be under shelter, 
though to be sure inside the tepee there was a 
close smell of scorched buckskin, moccasins, 
and poor tobacco, mingled with suggestions of 
a recent puppy-dog stew. But she was too ex- 
hausted to mind this very much, and she lay 
there with her eyes half closed while Long Eye- 
brow busied himself in rubbing down and 
tethering the pony outside, and his wife tried to 
start up the fire smoldering at the entrance of 
the tepee. Then she took one of the lighted 
4 


50 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


brands and went outside, hunting among the 
weeds and grasses, presently returning with 
her hands full of a green herb which she 
pounded and bruised and placed on Sarah Da- 
kota’s ankle. 

Then she warmed up some fish and baked 
some flat pancake like bits of bread over the 
coals and brought these to the pile of skins on 
which her visitor lay and smilingly urged her to 
eat, and, though a troop of memories came up 
concerning uncleanly preparation of food, Sa- 
rah Dakota, hungry and exhausted, was forced 
to confess that the fish and bread tasted better 
than Etienne’s dainty cookery of so many hours 
before. And, while she ate, two little Indian 
boys stood watching her, their bright eyes blink- 
ing solemnly and their dusky cheeks flushed 
from recent slumber. 

Long Eyebrow, having attended to the pony’s 
wants, came in and helped himself to a piece of 
meat and some bread, his square jaws coming 
together with resonant clicks, and his lips 
smacking at every bite. Then he stretched 
himself out in the darkest corner of the tepee, 
and was soon snoring so loudly that it quite 
drowned the far-away muttering of the subsid- 
ing storm. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


51 


Mrs. Long Eyebrow and her red-cheeked 
sons lay down, too, and the tepee was quiet 
again save for the monotonous snores of the 
proprietor and the spluttering of the fire at the 
entrance. 

The bruised herbs made Sarah Dakota’s 
ankle feel more comfortable, and, after a little 
dreamy pondering over the events of the past 
night and her own present peculiar situation, 
she fell into a sound sleep, from which she was 
not aroused until the daylight streamed into the 
tepee, brightening with gold the umber shad- 
ows. Then a face lighted by blue eyes and 
framed in a flaxen beard bent over her, and 
Eric’s voice, relieved and joyful, spoke to her, 
saying : 

* * 0, leedle Missy ! Vat for you done runned 
avay?” 

His words banished the bewilderment caused 
by her sudden awakening. A sullen look over- 
spread her face. She pushed back the bright 
hair from her throbbing forehead as she an- 
swered wearily: 

“You know why I left, Eric. Father has — 
0, Eric!” with a sudden burst of tears — 
“father doesn’t care for me any more, and I 
haven’t any home.” 


52 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“Listen, poor child,'’ and Eric's voice was 
very tender. “Listen. I haf heard mine mut- 
ter say, ‘Yen dy vater and dy mutter forsake 
de, den de Lord vill take de oop.’ But your 
vater haf not forsake you, eider. He most vild 
mit himselfs ven he learn you beest out on de 
prairie alone and at night and in de storm." 

Sarah Dakota’s face softened a little. 

“ Did he really worry?" she eagerly asked. 

“Very mooch. He leave his new vife — she 
vorry, too — no, you need not shake your head, 
she did ! and ride here and dere, eferyvere, 
down to Chapeta Ranch and over to Lundy's. 
I t’ink you go to mine mutter's, you and she 
such friends. But I lope over dere and not 
find you, eider. Mine mutter she feel mooch 
sorry and she vorry, but she say : 

“ ‘ Eric, I vill pray down on mine knees for de 
poor lamb vile you do go and hunts for her.’ 
So I goes and hunts, but I not feel quite so bad, 
because I know dat mine mutter she vas pray- 
ing already all de viles so dat nodings of harm 
comes to you. And now I finds you all 
right." 

Sarah Dakota’s face was very sober. 

“So kind Mrs. Berg was praying for me," 
she said. “It’s very strange. I wonder if 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


53 


that’s what kept me from harm? I’ve heard of 
such things, but I never thought much about 
them. I suppose people East do — folks who 
go to church and prayer meeting. Out West, 
though, you know everybody is so busy and 
rustling and hurrying, and we don’t have much 
time to think.” 

“ Mine mutter, she vork hard. She haf sev- 
ens children to cook for and dere clothes to see 
to, and she vork in de field and blant de bota- 
toes and corn and use de hoe and rake and 
milk de cows, and sometimes she’s run de plow 
ven I vas not home, but she pray vonce, 
twice, many times a day. She say it help her 
vork mooch better and take de tired avay and 
de vorry, too,” said Eric earnestly. 

“Your mother is a good woman, Eric,” said 
the girl. “ I was going to her. I felt that she 
was the only friend I had. I thought I would 
stay with her a day or two till I could make my 
plans. But the storm came up and I lost my 
way, and 0, it was awful, Eric! I never 
knew what it was to be frightened before. 
Dandy played me a wretched trick by wander- 
ing off to this miserable tepee; though, to be 
sure, I ought not to say anything against it, for 
it has sheltered me, and the Indians were 


54 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


kind, though’ ’ — with a grimace and a glance 
around her — “ I can’t say that I admire their 
cooking or housekeeping.’’ 

‘‘No,’’ rejoined Eric, with a grin. “Old 
Antonia isn’t vat you’d call barticularly neat, 
but she beats this Madam Long Eyebrow. 
But, as you say, ’tis not best to say anytings 
about a pridge vot carries von over. Dese 
Long Eyebrows haf been kind, and vat you 
t’ink, Missy, shall I tell demto coom over to de 
ranch and your vater gives dem sometings for 
being kind, eh?” 

“0, yes!” eagerly. “I want to give the 
squaw a nice blanket. She took hers to cover 
me when I was asleep. Then the herbs she 
fixed made my ankle feel ever so much better. 
I sprained it, you know, when Dandy threw 
me.” 

“So? I alvays told de Colonel dat pony von 
sly veller. He have a vicked look mit de eyes. 
But,” anxiously, “you t’ink you able to ride 
home now, leedle Mees?” 

“0, yes,” moodily, “ I suppose I am able. 
But,” burying her facedown in the pile of skins, 
“ I don’t want to go. 0, I don’t want to go 
back ! It makes me feel ashamed and humble 
and beaten. I don’t think I’ve been treated 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


55 


right at all. I don’t want a new mother. I 
think it’s mean to bring one there to the ranch 
where I’ve been so happy. Everything’ll be 
spoiled if she comes.” And Sarah Dakota’s 
voice thrilled with indignation; and as she 
flounced and tossed on her humble cot the little 
bundle she had brought with her tumbled down 
upon the earthy floor, and the little red Bible 
rolled out. Eric picked it up, unmindful of the 
flood of color overspreading the girl’s face. 

“ De vord of God !” he exclaimed reverently. 

“It was my mother’s; I found it the other 
day. I hated to leave it,” Sarah Dakota said, 
stammering. 

“ Dat vas right,” turning the pages over one 
by one. “ I can’t read Engleesh very veil — 
only a vord here and dere — but I knows dat it 
says somevere in here dat ‘ Christ pleased not 
himself !’ ” 

“What's that to me?” impatiently. 

“ It beest sometings to efery von,” said 
Eric, his stolid face glowing with inward light. 
“Sometings to efery von who beest berplexed 
and has tings go wrong. If de Saviour have not 
his own way, but vas bothered and vorried, and 
— vat you call it in Engleesh? — misunderstood ? 
— vhy, ve ought to do shust as he did, go 


56 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


ahead and try to do right and do our duty, and 
t’ink not so mooch all de vhiles about our own 
seifs. So?” 

“ I don’t know much about such things,” 
said Sarah Dakota. “I told you I didn't. 
Your mother’s talked to me a little, but then 
she's only been here a few months. But what’s 
the use of talking Bible talk? All those things 
happened ever so long ago. I suppose my 
mother ” — lowering her tone — “ I suppose she 
thought a great deal about such things, but 
maybe that was because she felt she was going 
to die — that must make anybody feel solemn. 
But as for me, I don't see that there is any use 
in talking what I ought to do and what's my 
duty, and so on.” 

There was a little silence after this passionate 
outburst, and then Eric said gravely, laying his 
hand gently on the girl’s head: 

“Vat is your duty, shild? I t'ink mine mut- 
ter say, I t’ink your mutter say, too, if she 
could speak from de beautiful heaven — go pack 
to your vater, who is sick mit vorry apout you. 
Den maybe ven you gets rested and dis oxcite- 
ment blows over, you and he can have a quiet 
talk and make t’ings more to suit you — more 
comfortable.” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


57 


“Things won’t be arranged so that I’ll be 
mistress of Rollingstone Ranch!” with a toss 
of her head and a curl of her red lip. 

“Veil, den, I t’ink to be mistress of your- 
self be petter. Do not give avay to anger. Do 
not be von leedle cyclone. Learn to be kind 
and gentle. Your vater loafs you. If you had 
seen how pale he vas last night your heart ache 
dat you runned avay. But, come now, leedle 
Mees, and let me take you home.” 

Wearied by the excitement of the past few 
hours Sarah Dakota yielded easier than Eric 
had anticipated. In a few minutes she found 
herself mounted on Dandy’s back, while the 
Long Eyebrow family, dusky and dirty, but 
smiling, surrounded her to bid her farewell. 

We said all were smiling, but we must make 
an exception in the case of the head of the 
household. Meester Long Eyebrow, as Eric 
ceremoniously called him, was grim and taci- 
turn. Down in his heart was a deep regret at 
seeing his former pony leave him ; he had al- 
ways been particularly fond of the animal, and 
would never have parted with him had it not 
been that the fumes of whisky — and very poor 
whisky — had gotten into his brain, thereby giv- 
ing Colonel Vandecar a very good bargain. 


58 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


It was not until Erib,with many gestures and 
explosive mixture of English, Swedish, and 
Sioux words, made him understand that he and 
his family were expected to come up to the 
ranch and receive a suitable reward for their 
hospitality shown the daughter of the Colonel, 
that Long Eyebrow’s features relaxed into an 
expansive grin, and he waved his brawny hands 
in a lordly farewell. 

The little Long Eyebrows trotted a few rods 
out on the prairies after their departing guests, 
joyfully jingling the five-cent pieces Eric had 
given them, while Mrs. Long Eyebrow smiling- 
ly waddled back to the tepee to resume her do- 
mestic labors, that just then consisted in wrest- 
ling with damp firewood with which to cook the 
morning repast — a plump puppy dog, beguiled 
away, it must be confessed, on the previous aft- 
ernoon from a white resident of the adjacent 
village. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE FUGITIVE’S RETURN. 

SINGLE horseman galloped out to meet 



Eric and Sarah Dakota as they came with- 
in sight of Rollingstone Ranch. As he drew 
near them it needed but a glance to recognize 
the straight, soldierly figure, firmly mounted, 
and riding with a free yet secure ease. 

“There’s pappy!” exclaimed the girl, and a 
great lump came in her throat. She was not 
afraid to meet him, and yet she felt like a cul- 
prit. Perhaps she had done wrong in running 
away. Maybe it would have been better to 
have remained and shown in a dignified way 
that she disapproved of the new arrangements 
her father had made. But, unfortunately, Sarah 
Dakota was not at all dignified. She was, as 
Eric said, “a leedle cyclone.” She was hasty, 
impulsive, often unreasonable. Even now she 
hardly realized what anxiety her wild flight had 
caused. 

Vaguely wondering how her father would 
greet her in this ignominious return, she rode 
forward, unconsciously attempting to delay the 


60 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


interview by checking Dandy a little in his brisk 
canter. The Colonel was apparently more 
eager for the meeting. He spurred his horse 
forward in great bounds. His bronzed face 
looked pale and wornout, but his eyes were lit 
with a great joy. 

‘ ‘ Why, my dear, dear child ! ’ ’ he exclaimed, as 
he turned his great, black horse neck by neck with 
Dandy. “My dear little girl!” drawing her 
from the saddle into his arms, “how glad I am 
to see you ! A great fright you have given us. 
But there, there,” kissing her and clumsily 
patting her cheek, for Sarah Dakota’s nerves 
had given away under this last strain, and she 
was sobbing passionately. “There, there, 
don’t cry. I sha’n’t scold you now, seeing 
that you’re safe and sound. Come, you’re all 
tired out, though. What’s that you say, Eric? 
Spent the night in an Indian tepee? Well, 
well, well ! That was pretty rough tavern fare, 
but I’m glad she was under some sort of shel- 
ter. I don’t suppose, though, that those Sioux 
gave you anything fit to eat. You must be nigh 
about starved anyhow. There, let me put you 
in your saddle again, and we’ll lope home. 
Etienne’s got a prime breakfast ready, and 
you’ll feel better after having some of it. Your 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


61 


— Mrs. Vandecar — my wife" — he paused a 
little awkwardly — “ she'll help you off with those 
wet clothes. She's worried about you, too. 
Hope you won’t be sick. Whatever possessed 
you to be so foolish as to run away? Perhaps 
I was to blame in not telling you everything; 
but I meant it all for the best. There, now, 
don’t cry, and I won’t say a word." 

The ranch looked unusually pleasant, Sarah 
Dakota thought, as they drew near it. Its 
brown and buff sides and red-tinted roof were 
gay and bright in the morning sun. The rain 
had washed the trunks of the cottonwoods sur- 
rounding it, and they looked like white columns 
supporting a green roof. 

The sandy yard was damp and glistening. 
The wind came in soft, sweet gusts, waving the 
tassels of the wild cucumber vine twining 
around the rough veranda pillars. There was a 
sound of neighing and champing horses in the 
stables and a cackle of fowls in the barnyard. 
Then, leaping and tumbling and all barking to- 
gether in a loud, joyful chorus, the dogs came 
bounding forth to meet her, and they danced 
around Dandy’s legs, their red tongues lolling 
in the glowing heat and their shaggy tails all 
a-quiver with delight. 


62 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


A minute more and Sarah Dakota was within 
the cool shade of the grove. Her father assist- 
ed her to alight. For an instant he held her in 
his arms. Her face was on a level with his. He 
looked rather grave just now, his daughter 
thought. Perhaps anxiety had given away to 
its frequent sequel — displeasure. 

She turned her quivering lips toward him, 
half hoping that he would kiss her again. But 
he did not. Without meaning to be unkind, he 
turned away from the glowing cheeks and 
pleading eyes and looked up toward the veran- 
da. His face softened with sudden tenderness 
then, and his daughter, as she jealously followed 
his glances, felt her warm, melting heart harden 
and grow hard and stubborn again. 

For there, before her, stood the one she 
blamed for all her trouble. Very slight and 
frail, very gentle and childlike, seemed the new 
mother as she stood there with the fresh, beau- 
tiful morning around her. She seemed a part 
of it herself, as fresh and beautiful — her fair, 
Eastern complexion as yet unspoiled by the hot 
suns and dry winds. 

She wore a muslin gown, soft, white, diaph- 
anous, and there was a blue ribbon at her waist 
and soft, white lace at her throat. She had 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


63 


clear, thoughtful eyes, and her mouth, though 
firm, was very gentle. Her voice, when she 
spoke, was sweet and cultured and very differ- 
ent from the shrill, high-pitched chatter of most 
of the women Sarah Dakota had met. 

Colonel Vandecar, valiant soldier and fear- 
less Indian fighter, experienced a qualm of cow- 
ardice at this awkward juncture. Then, assum- 
ing a careless, offhand manner, he said, in a 
stumbling way : 

“ Daughter, this is your — my — ah, Mrs. Van- 
decar. I hope you will make — ah — things 
pleasant for her — I’m sure she will try to do so 
for you.” 

Sarah Dakota went forward, stumbling awk- 
wardly over her riding skirt. Her eyes were 
bent on the ground ; they were hot and tear- 
less. Her cheeks burned, and there was a 
great lump in her throat. Half-reluctantly she 
held out her hand. 

Now, it so happened, that the new Mrs. Van- 
decar was neither one of two types of step- 
mothers. She was neither cold, heartless, un- 
feeling, nor was she sweetly effusive with an 
overpowering graciousness. 

She read the girl’s character in one brief 
glance. It would be a character hard to deal 


64 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


with. There was affection there, but it would 
be difficult to win. There was a deep, rich na- 
ture, but it was raw, untrained, rebellious. The 
new mother must be cautious and very consid- 
erate. 

She met Sarah Dakota halfway down the 
steps. She took the little, supple brown hand, 
with the riding whip still in it, in her own 
smooth, white one, and the clear, cordial tones 
of her voice compelled the lowering glance to be 
upward turned, as she said : 

“ My dear, I am glad to meet you, and I am 
also glad you are safe. But you must be tired, 
and I see your clothes are very damp. Let me 
or Antonia help you get some dry things on, 
and then we will all have breakfast together. 
Shall I come and help you, dear?” 

“No,” said the girl, shortly, and then, too 
proud to be outdone in politeness by this stran- 
ger, she added: “No, thank you, ma’am. An- 
tonia will help me ; she knows where my things 
are.” 

And Etienne, who, with a Frenchman’s love 
of the dramatic, had been peering around the 
rough log framework of the kitchen door in the 
hopes of seeing something thrilling occur at the 
meeting of these two, gave a shrug of the shoul- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


65 


der and an impatient pull at his white cap, as 
he went back to fry the chicken, saying: 

‘ ‘ Eh , bien ! But I did expect ze fur fly 
ven ze leedle Sarah Dakota meet ze new mere. 
But it all go like zey nevaire have any trouble 
together. Time vill tell. Perhaps ze leedle 
Sarah Dakota like von mustaing, and ze new 
madam lassoo her easy.” 

“Why did you run away without telling me, 
you poor little darling?” was Antonia’s greet- 
ing, as she hurried to Sarah Dakota’s room 
with sundry garments on her arm. “Why 
keep so quiet and not tell Antonia, who carried 
you when you were a wee, teething baby? 
Didn’t you know my heart was aching for you? 
Even if I do scold you sometimes, I wouldn’t 
see anybody abuse you as long as I had a tongue 
to talk or a hand to strike. The new madam is 
very sweet and soft spoken; a body can see 
that she’ll twist the Colonel around her little 
white finger; but, harkee, child! I’ll be on the 
lookout that you get your rights. We’ll have 
no fine, Eastern ladies bossing our cooking, our 
cleaning, our Western ways, and our little 
Missy!” And the half-breed’s great, black 
eyes blazed in her wrinkled face. 

“0, don’t talk about it, Antonia!” said the 
5 


66 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


girl, impatiently, and then she added in a dreary 
tone: “I’m sick of it all. There is such a 
change about everything. My father doesn’t 
seem like my father any more. Not that he 
isn’t kind ” — hastily, lest she should be thought 
unjust. 

“Well, I guess you’d believed he cared for 
you if you’d seen him last night,” exclaimed 
Antonia. “He just got home with his bride, 
and when he found you missing I never did see 
him so worried. He’s been galloping here and 
there all night, and the new mistress was left 
alone here. She was worrying, too ; I could see 
that. She sat up by the fire or watched by the 
open door, and wouldn’t heed a word I said 
about lying down. She ordered me to keep the 
fire up and have warm blankets and hot flannels 
ready, just as if I didn’t know enough to do 
that after having lived thirty years on the 
plains and standing all the blizzards and tend- 
ing to the folks that got caught in them, to say 
nothing of my being anxious for you, my own 
little Missy! There, take off that wet skirt. 
Bless us ! if you aren’t wet through to the skin ! 
Your voice sounds like a coyote’s bark. You’ve 
taken cold — I know you have, child.” 

“ No, I haven’t,” said Sarah Dakota, hoarse- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


67 


ly. “My throat is a little sore and my bones 
are stiff, but I’ll be all right after I’ve rested a 
few hours.” 

But she wasn't. She awoke from a pro- 
longed, though uneasy slumber, to find her 
limbs still stiff and aching, while her head 
throbbed painfully, and there was a disagree- 
able tightness about her throat and chest. 

The afternoon was clear and pleasant. 
Checkered bars of green and yellow light came 
in through the window from the boughs out- 
side, waving in the sunshine. The air was so 
still and clear that one caught the ceaseless rip- 
ple of the Rollingstone. 

* ‘ How cool the water sounds ! ’ ' exclaimed 
Sarah Dakota, as she turned her flushed face on 
the pillow. “ I can see just how it looks down 
by the river, with the little waves splashing over 
the round brown and yellow stones. And it's 
so pleasant under the trees there. I wish I felt 
well enough to go down and take off my shoes 
and stockings and wade right through the water, 
the same as the Indians do when they come up 
from the Reservation. It’s so warm here, and 
my head aches. O, dear!” — and, turning, she 
again fell into a broken slumber. 

In after years the memory of that week of 


68 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


sickness came back to her like a vague, un- 
pleasant dream. There were hours of pain, 
fever, and mental wandering. There was aeon- 
fused mingling of faces — Antonia’s, brown and 
wizen, with beady, black eyes ; sometimes her 
father bent over her, thoughtful and anxious, 
and always with a pained look on it when she 
talked of her dead mother, which she often did, 
babbling aimlessly of pretty gowns made over 
and little red Bibles, and being good and being 
naughty. Sometimes she thought she was on 
Dandy’s back, madly riding over the prairie, 
while the storm was hurrying down. 

Sometimes Eric would come in, clumsily but 
gently, his homely, good-natured face full of 
pity, and his hands full, filled with the dewy 
prairie flowers that Sarah Dakota liked — starry 
asters, in all shades from royal purple to pale 
amethyst, fragrant cone flowers, and great 
white moon flowers, with silvery, silken petals. 
He laid them on the bed, and the sick girl's 
fingers touched them as a blind person touches 
things, hardly knowing what they were. But 
the flowers comforted her, and Eric's presence 
comforted her. His mother came, too, her rosy 
face full of inward peace. It was she who could 
quiet Sarah Dakota when everyone else failed. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


69 


There was someone else also, who watched 
and worked. This was the new mother. It 
was she who shared bravely all the care. She 
attended to the giving of medicines with unfail- 
ing regularity. She studied every symptom. 
She aided the physician by her sensible sugges- 
tions. And when convalescence returned, and 
Sarah Dakota with returning health showed signs 
of resuming the old antipathies and prejudices, 
the new mother slipped quietly into the back- 
ground, not lessening her ministrations, but 
making them as unobtrusive as possible. 

But Sarah Dakota was slow in getting well. 
As good Mrs. Berg said, “ She stay shust 
so!” 

She seemed to have fallen into a state of 
apathy and languor from which nothing could 
arouse her. Even her father was struck by the 
contrast this pale, listless, slow-footed girl was 
to the brisk, laughing, rosy cheeked, sparkling 
eyed hoiden of former days. One day he 
strode awkwardly into the cool sitting room, 
where his daughter lay on the lounge, appar- 
ently dozing, but in reality thinking, and think- 
ing very morbid thoughts. He sat down beside 
her, fanning his flushed, florid face with his 
straw hat, and said, abruptly: 


70 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ My daughter, how’d you like to go East 
for a time? To visit some of your ma’s re- 
lations, I mean. You can have a chance to go 
to school there, if you like, and anyway, it’ll 
be a change and maybe it’ll do you good.” 

The white roses on Sarah Dakota’s cheeks 
changed to deep crimson ones. Her hazel eyes 
shone. She raised herself on her elbow and 
looked at her father. She smiled — for the first 
time in a long while. 

“ Go East — go to my own mother’s folks? 
Oh, pappy! I should like that, I know,” she 
exclaimed, and her voice trembled with excite- 
ment. 


v 


CHAPTER V. 

THE VAN DORN HOMESTEAD. 

| N a green valley lying at the foothills of the 
Adirondacks, and winding until it reached 
the royal Hudson, stood the Van Dorn home- 
stead. It was on a slight elevation command- 
ing a view of the Mohawk, with its silvery, 
serpentine curves. Wooded hills were at its 
back with sunny openings between them, and 
in front lay the broad meadows or “ flats/’ as 
the Dutch pioneers named them, composed of 
rich, alluvial soil, and covered by a verdure 
green and fresh as Erin’s own, and lasting 
from April until November. 

One might travel many a league over this 
wide earth and find few spots more beautiful 
than this valley, with the Indian name, and rich 
in Indian legends. For, could the green hills 
and meadows, the shining river, and deep 
forests speak, many a tale could they tell of 
savage warfare, of rugged Dutch pluck and 
perseverance, of patient self-denial, and heroic 
struggles. 

On the morning of which we speak, peace 


72 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


and plenty crowned the green valley. Prog- 
ress, too, was there, with its shining steel 
tracks, and mighty engines thundering along 
by the dimpling stream, their coils of steam and 
smoke mingling with the silver mists, and the 
noise of their clanging bells and shrill whistles 
reechoing from the hill slopes. 

Out in the meadows the clatter of mowing 
machines blended with the locust’s drowsy 
note. The tall grasses lay in long swathes, 
and mingled with the fragrant timothy and red- 
top, were pink clover blooms, white daisies, 
and black-eyed susans. It was a veritable 
slaughter of the innocents, and all the air was 
filled with the sweet sacrifice. 

They were haying at the Van Dorn farm. It 
was early morning, yet more than two acres 
were cut, and the dewy grasses were steaming 
in the hot sunshine. The workmen in their 
shirt sleeves looked ruddy and perspiring, and 
prophesied a very warm day. 

All was shade and coolness around the farm- 
house itself. It was a large, white building, 
square in front, with a lean-to at the rear. 
Quaint, Grecian columns supported the long 
veranda. Woodbine, green and luxuriant, 
climbed over these, reaching up to the third 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


73 


story windows. There were coral-tipped honey- 
suckles, too, and wild clematis with blossoms 
like drifted snow. At the south side the 
wistaria hung its purple tassels, and the trum- 
pet vine waved its scarlet tubes. 

Great elms shaded the front of the house, 
and there were also graceful maples and silvery 
birches, while at the north side was a fine row 
of evergreens. 

Just where the sunshine spread its long, 
warm fingers over the smooth, green lawn, 
were beds of phlox, geraniums, spice pinks, 
sweet peas, and mignonette, all growing together 
in a sweet, old-fashioned way. Most of the 
flowers came up themselves year after year, in 
a sturdy, self-reliant habit, as though they knew 
that a place and praise awaited them. 

The Van Dorn family were taking their 
breakfast. The dining room was a long apart- 
ment, not very high as to ceiling, but exceed- 
ingly pleasant, with its dark wainscoting and 
buff-tinted walls, and deep red hues in rugs and 
draperies. The furniture was old-fashioned 
and heavy, its dark mahogany relieved here 
and there by a beribboned willow chair of 
modern make. 

A tall vase of golden-hearted, white lilies 


74 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


stood on the shelf of the dark mantel ; the 
black-throated fireplace held, like glowing em- 
bers, a bunch of vivid, red poppies. 

There were flowers, too, on the table — sweet 
peas in all shades of pale pink, creamy white, 
maroon, bronze, and lavender. Their dainty 
hues were reflected in the quaint, old-fashioned 
silverware. 

Miss Katrinka Van Dorn had her hands on 
the big shining teapot now. It was a cumber- 
some affair with little silver cupids climbing 
over a festoon of roses that served as a handle, 
and one more adventuresome cupid sitting 
astride the spout, triumphantly brandishing a 
branch of the same flowers. 

The Van Dorns always used tea. Coffee 
really seemed to be a more modern drink — 
more Frenchified, Miss Katrinka thought. 

The Van Dorns had used tea for generations 
back. A remote ancestor, in those good, old 
days when Admiral V an Tromp sailed triumphant 
over the seas with a broom tacked to his mast- 
head to show that the Dutch had swept the sea 
free from their enemies, had brought home a 
great chest full of the herb that ‘ ‘ cheers but 
not inebriates/ * and his descendants had in- 
herited a taste for the same. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


75 


The cupid-and-rose-decked teapot was almost 
as old as the ancestor aforementioned, but it 
was still sound and solid, and its presence gave 
an air of respectability to the table. 

Miss Katrinka was the oldest of the family. 
She was nearly sixty years of age. Her cheeks 
were as ruddy as a winter apple, and her abun- 
dant hair hung in crisp, little curls, frosted by 
time. She had an erect figure, independent of 
stays. She carried her head proudly; her 
solid, double chin tip-tilted, as was the habit of 
the Van Dorns. Her eyes were blue and clear 
and bright as those of a child. 

Miss Katrinka wore an old-fashioned cotton 
gown — a white groundwork, with pale green 
sprays like seaweed running over it. There 
were white dimity ruffles at her wrists, and her 
neat, linen collar was fastened by a large 
brooch containing the miniature of an ancient 
Van Dorn, who, peering from it, red-cheeked 
and big-wigged, seemed to have almost the 
identity of a guest at the table. 

Miss Barbara, who sat opposite her sister, 
wore another old miniature ; but this was of a 
lady with insignificant features and washed-out 
complexion. It must be confessed that she 
somewhat resembled Miss Barbara herself, be- 


76 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


ing short and dumpy and having a chin built on 
successive terraces. 

The sisters differed in talents and disposition. 
Miss Katrinka’s special forte was in planning 
and managing. She had great executive abil- 
ity, and her energy was infectious. She planned 
out the work of the farm, and, with her broth- 
er’s assistance, won such success that the Van 
Dorn prosperity was mentioned as something re- 
markable, even in a county filled with Dutch 
thrift. 

Miss Barbara’s tastes were chiefly domestic. 
She excelled in cookery. Her bread was the 
whitest and lightest of any around ; her sponge 
cake a golden dream, her pastry flaky and lus- 
cious, her jellies quivering rubies, and for vari- 
ous fancy confections and sweetmeats other 
housewives pronounced her a magician. She 
made jams of black currants to use with veni- 
son and potted meats ; she made honey cakes 
delicious as fallen manna, and “floating islands ’ ’ 
around which one’s tongue delighted to navi- 
gate. As for her plum pudding and fruit cake, 
there was a magic flavor about them that no 
one’s else had. Miss Barbara said that it was 
owing to preserved rose leaves that she put in, 
and, though she was generous enough to give 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


77 


everybody the recipe, still no one had the suc- 
cess in making use of it that she had. 

She had a knack, too, in making drinks. 
Strictly temperate they were, however — sher- 
bets, raspberry vinegar, and preserved juice of 
various fruits. And that brings us back to the 
tea, hot and fragrant, which Miss Katrinka was 
pouring out. With the old-fashioned silver 
tongs she dropped the lump of sugar into the 
pink, gilt-edged china cup — one lump in her 
own and two in her sister’s cup, for Miss Bar- 
bara, like all born cooks, had a sweet tooth, 
and then she poured out the rich yellow cream 
from a silver pitcher that was as short and 
squatty as a veritable Dutchman. 

“Guy isn’t up yet, is he?’’ she asked, glanc- 
ing at a vacant chair by her side. 

“No,” Miss Barbara replied. “ He sat up 
so late last night. I saw his lamp burning after 
ten o’clock, and I went in there and found him 
sitting up in bed with his books around him. 
He had his Latin grammar and Virgil, some 
books of poetry and English literature. He 
looked pale and tired. I knew the poor boy 
was dreadfully exhausted, so I slipped on my 
wrapper, ran down to the pantry, and got him 
a piece of pie and some doughnuts.” 


78 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“Really, I don’t know that eating so late at 
night is good for him,” doubtfully, and then 
Miss Katrinka added with more decision, 
“and I'm sure that studying so late is bad for 
a growing lad, or for anybody else for that mat- 
ter. Guy is a regular bookworm. College is 
all well enough, but he oughtn’t to kill himself 
getting ready to go there. I do wish the boy 
was more active. He isn’t at all like the Van 
Dorns, especially the men. There was our 
father. He was up at daybreak, out for a brisk 
gallop, or for a stroll over the farm to see how 
the work was getting on. Uncle Ben was so, 
too, only his tastes were seafaring. And Joshua 
was very industrious ; always trading, and mak- 
ing a little money even when he was a boy. 

“Joshua is a prosperous merchant now in 
New York, and Ben was a captain of a fine ves- 
sel before he died. And as for Roscoe, Guy’s 
father, why he’s as smart as the rest. A real 
good farmer Roscoe is. I don’t know what 
I’d do without his help. I wish that Guy took 
after him.” 

“Well, the boy’s tastes are toward books,” 
said Miss Barbara. “And I don’t know, sis- 
ter, but what we ought to be glad of it. Who 
knows but what he’ll be a minister.” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


79 


“ He won’t be anything unless he’s got good 
health,” said Miss Katrinka, shortly. “ He’s 
ruining his health by late hours ; and I’m afraid, 
too, Barbara, that you are spoiling him by over- 
indulgence in rich food.” 

“But, really, Katrinka,” expostulated Miss 
Barbara, “ the child has no appetite at all. He 
must have something to tempt him.” 

“Humph! Pie and cake won’t give him 
much vigor, mental or physical. I’m afraid 
you’ve made a mistake. Indeed, I’m convinced 
of it. I’m to blame, too. We’ve coddled him 
too much. I suppose it has been because he 
came to us when he was a wee, motherless 
babe, and we felt so tender toward him. He is 
a dear boy, with gentle disposition and winning 
ways. But I do wish he had more force and 
was more rugged.” 

“You always did admire strong, forceful 
men, Katrinka,” said her sister. 

“Of course I did — and do!” promptly. 
“ Think of our father. Why, I have heard him 
say that when he was only fourteen years old 
he could toss a barrel of apples into a wagon ; 
and he’d break in a colt, manage a fiery span, 
and run and jump and wrestle. There’s the 
Father of his country, too — George Washing- 


( 


80 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


ton — he was a superb athlete. Don’t you re- 
member that story in our old Reader about his 
climbing away up on the rocks and carving his 
name there? And I’ve heard, too, that he 
could toss a silver dollar away across the Potomac 
River from the veranda at Mount Vernon !” 

‘ ‘ But you know that Senator Evarts said that 
a dollar went farther in those days than it does 
now,” Miss Barbara demurely remarked. 

Miss Katrinka laughed. 

“I guess it did,” she said. “Folks didn’t 
have so many of them in those days, and per- 
haps it’s just as well. Maybe they were all the 
stronger and better for struggling with poverty. 
I think the boys were, anyhow. But as for the 
boys of to-day, they seem to think that they 
are taking a powerful lot of exercise if they go 
whizzing by on a shiny wheel” — and Miss Ka- 
trinka glanced scornfully out of the window at a 
stray wheelman gliding down the road. 

‘ * I tried to coax Guy to let me get him a 
bicycle,” observed Miss Barbara. “They’re 
real fashionable. Judge De Baun’s son has 
one, and so has Senator Martin’s. Besides, I 
actually saw Mr. Strong, the new minister, 
riding on one. So many college boys have 
them, too. I’ve told Guy so, and when he and 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


81 


I went down to Mr. Lee’s this June, I got him 
to get on Tom’s. But he only tried once. He 
didn’t seem to like it much ; he said it wobbled 

t> 

so. 

“Of course it'd wobble!” exclaimed Miss 
Katrinka, with a fine show of contempt. “Of 
course it’d wobble. A person’s got to learn. 
Guy could learn if he’d only practice ; I’m sure 
I could!” 

“0, sister!” and Miss Barbara looked 
shocked at the very suggestion of seeing stately 
Miss Katrinka manage a “ Columbia!” 

“ O, you needn’t be horrified! Ladies do 
ride them. I don’t say that I’m going to try, 
though, at my age. I get enough exercise 
managing this big Van Dorn farm. What I 
meant to say was that it would do Guy good 
to ride on one, though, of course, it isn’t like 
riding on a fine, spirited horse.” 

“Hark ! there comes Guy now,” as a listless 
step was heard coming down the stairs. 

“His father’s coming, too,” with a glance 
out of the window. “ Roscoe’s been down to 
the post office. Said he was going before 
breakfast.” 

The door opened, and father and son en- 
tered. 


6 


82 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


The former was a tall, well-built man with a 
face somewhat resembling Miss Katrinka’s. 
He was much younger, however. 

Guy was thirteen years old, but small for his 
age, short and slight and stoop-shouldered, 
with a waxen complexion, sharp, thin, little 
nose, gentle, irresolute mouth, and a pair of 
fine, thoughtful, dark eyes. His forehead was 
broad and full, but the blue veins showed 
plainly on his temples. 

His appearance was unattractive, mainly be- 
cause of his untidy dress. His eyes looked 
dull and heavy as though no refreshing cold 
water had been dashed against them, his hair 
was tousled, his jacket was unbrushed, his neck- 
tie awry, and his collar dirty and crumpled. 
His shoestrings slapped around his ankles and 
along the floor as he walked to the table, and 
the hands with which he unrolled his napkin 
were begrimed. 

Another time, perhaps, his father would have 
noticed and reproved his careless neglect, but 
in the present instance Mr. Van Dorn seemed 
absorbed in something else. 

“News for you, ladies — momentous news!” 
he exclaimed jocularly as he seated himself at 
the table and prepared to make a vigorous 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


83 


attack on the pink-tinted ham and poached 
eggs. 

“ News? 0 yes, I know you went to the 
post office. I see the tips of two envelopes 
sticking out of your pocket. There, by your 
leave,” and Miss Katrinka pulled them out. 

“ Read 'em if you want to,” said her brother 
composedly. ‘ ‘ They concern you both as much 
as myself. One is from brother Joshua down 
in wicked Gotham ; and the other is from that 
brother-in-law of ours out in the wild and woolly 
West.” 

“From Chauncey Vandecar! Why, we 
haven't heard from him in nearly three years. 
What can he have to say to us now ? ’ ’ and 
Miss Katrinka' s fine brows contracted into a 
frown as she thought of the dashing Westerner 
who had taken her young and well-beloved 
sister so far away from her to have her life 
shortened, so Miss Katrinka firmly believed, 
by being among Indians, blizzards, cyclones, 
and all sorts of dreadful things. 

She read Colonel Vandecar' s letter first. It 
was very short. The Colonel was no student 
of rhetoric, but he generally said what he meant, 
and was able, unlike some better educated in- 
dividuals, to say it in a few words. 


84 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“Mr. R. Van Dorn : 

4 4 Dear Sir — I write to inquire whether it 
would be convenient for you to have my 
daughter come East and be under your care 
and that of your sisters for a while? Of course 
I wish to make it all right so far as the expense 
goes, and believe me, I regard that as a very 
small part of the obligation I would be under. 
The fact is, my girl is growing fast; she needs 
schooling and training. Moreover, she is 
somewhat discontented with her life here at 
present and is anxious for a change. If you 
can take her for a time, it will be considered a 
great favor by, 

44 Yours truly, 

44 C. Vandecar.” 

44 P. S. — I presume you are aware that I have 
married again ; I sent you the Weekly Rustler ; 
the Republican organ of our county, giving the 
notice/ * 

Miss Barbara sat gasping in surprise. Miss 
Katrinka took off her spectacles, rubbed them, 
and did her best to put them on upside down. 
There was a sparkle in her eye, and a red spot 
on either cheek. 

“Well, I declare she exclaimed, as her 
brother sat there, eating composedly, and evi- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


85 


dently enjoying the commotion made by the 
advent of the letter. “Well, I declare, if 
Chauncey Vandecar isn’t the coolest man!” 

“Yes, he lives in a breezy country where, 
I’ve been informed, the mercury is sometimes 
forty below zero,” her brother observed. 

“To think ” — Miss Katrinka went on — “to 
think of his sending his daughter to us. He's 
never paid the least attention to us since Laura 
died, unless it was a short, curt note at inter- 
vals of three or four years.” 

“ He must have confidence in us at any 
rate,” observed Miss Barbara. “And as for 
his marrying again — strange we didn’t get the 
paper he sent — you must remember that he’s 
been a widower for a long time — over a dozen 
years.” 

“ Maybe his marriage had something to do 
with his daughter’s discontent. Perhaps that’s 
why he wants to send her away.” 

“ If that’s the case, it seems to me that it 
would be unkind to refuse her shelter here,” 
said Mr. Van Dorn, and he added, with a 
twinkle in his eye, “ But I say, Katrinka, read 
the other letter.” Miss Katrinka put on her 
glasses — properly this time — and took the 
other letter. 


86 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


‘ ‘ Dear Brother and Sisters : I regret to in- 
form you that my wife and I will not be able to 
visit the dear old farm this summer, as we had 
planned. She wants to go to Europe with a 
party of friends. United States and Uncle 
Sam are good enough for me, but I profess to 
be a dutiful husband, and must obey. I 
thought, however, that I'd like to send my 
daughter Juliet to visit you. She is a citified 
miss, and I fancy that it'll do her good to 
know what plain country ways are. You'll 
see lots of nonsense in her, and I hope you’ll 
do your best to root it out. Katrinka has many 
a time said that she could write a book on the 
bringing up of children, and I’d like to have 
her put her theories into practice as far as 
Juliet is concerned. 

“Yours affectionately, 

“Joshua Van Dorn.” 

“Two girls coming for a visit!” exclaimed 
Miss Katrinka in mingled amusement and con- 
sternation. 

“Two girls coming here,” shrilly piped 
Guy, laying down his knife and fork. “Two 
girls ; that’s mean,” and the peevish lines about 
his mouth deepened. 


CHAPTER VI. 

FELLOW-TRAVELERS. 

JT was warm and dusty on the train that after- 
noon. Somebody opened a window, and 
the cinders flew in ; somebody else shut it, and 
the air was stifling again. The baby on the 
front seat cried incessantly. The brakeman 
said it “had a contract job.” Sometimes its 
yells seemed to express inward distress ; at 
others great outward indignation, though the 
prevailing tone was that of supreme dissatisfac- 
tion with the world in general and this express 
train in particular. Its cries blended in a varied 
crescendo and diminuendo with the roar and 
rattle of the train. 

Sarah Dakota was sorry for the baby. If she 
hadn't been so bashful she would have gone to 
the mother and asked to hold the child or make 
an endeavor to quiet it by carrying it up and 
down the car aisle. 

She was passionately fond of babies. All she 
had ever known had belonged to the farmers’ 
wives near the ranch — little German or Swedish 
babies, with round, blue eyes, red cheeks, and 


88 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


hair like dandelion puffs. These babies — the 
rulers and lawgivers of the happy future when 
Dakota should take her place (place for two) 
among the States — these sturdy babies, reared 
in sod houses or rude “ shacks,” getting little 
care or clothing, but plenty of good milk and 
fresh air and sunshine, were generally good na- 
tured, and Sarah Dakota had loved to fondle 
them. 

The baby on the cars was not at all like 
them. It looked white and puny. “I’d be 
almost afraid it’d fall to pieces if I did take 
it,” Sarah Dakota said to herself. “I’m sorry 
it’s so snarly. It makes the gentlemen in the 
cars look so cross. The mother is real tired. I 
wonder why that girl sitting behind her doesn’t 
offer to help her. I would if I was as near by.” 

‘ ‘ The girl on the seat back ’ ’ had attracted 
almost as much of the little Westerner’s atten- 
tion as the baby had. She was scarcely a year 
older than Sarah Dakota, but her manners and 
the expression of her countenance were those of 
a very mature woman of the world. All of her 
appointments were in the height of fashion, 
from the ostrich tip on her neat turban to the 
toe of her French boot. She wore a gray dress 
of a silky sheen. It was “tailor made,” and 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


89 


the little shoulder cape matched it charm- 
ingly. 

“I never saw gloves fit like hers," solilo- 
quized Sarah Dakota, “and they are just the 
shade of her dress. Everything about her is 
gray except the band of cherry velvet on her hat. 
I always thought gray was only fit for Quakers 
and grandmothers and old maid aunts, but I 
think it looks awfully pretty the way that girl 
has it. She’s real stylish and no mistake! 
Puts me in mind of the fashion book pappy got 
me. I tried to have Miss Gamp copy after the 
pictures in it, and she said she would, but some- 
how she didn’t get things just — well, I look 
different.’’ And Sarah Dakota glanced with 
deepening dissatisfaction at her own costume. 

She had been so pleased with it at Rollingstone 
Ranch. Her father had given her carte blanche 
to get what she wanted, and, in addition to the 
dresses made over from her mother’s, she had 
sent to Minneapolis for new material. 

And just here, I am sorry to say it, Sarah 
Dakota’s taste was lamentably crude. She was 
accustomed to the warm-tinted prairies, the 
bright sunshine, the gay, blue, yellow, red, and 
purple wild flowers. Then, too, there were the 
settlers around her — the Russians, Swedes, and 


90 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Germans — with their gorgeous petticoats and 
kerchiefs. The Indians, also, reveled in bright 
colors, and even Antonia, the aged crone, had 
been a living kaleidoscope. 

The new stepmother had, at first, made kind- 
ly suggestions as to Sarah Dakota’s outfit, but 
these were promptly and crushingly ignored. 

“I s’pose she’d like to have me go East as 
gloomy as a bullbird ! ” as she glanced toward 
the grassy buttes where Dandy was just then 
picketed, a flock of the birds she had men- 
tioned hovering over him, as was their habit. 
“I guess if my father pays for it,” she contin- 
ued, “I can have some bright colors and some 
style.” 

And now, as she journeyed along on the 
cars, she was forced to acknowledge that she 
had the bright colors, but had she the “style?” 
She wore a cardinal silk gown. The material 
was rich and expensive. There was plenty of 
trimming — fringe, bangles, and ribbons — but 
somehow she vaguely felt that she was not well 
dressed. An artist could have told her that the 
color of her gown was one that quite spoiled the 
rich tints of her hair. 

Her gloves were ill-fitting — their buttons 
scattered somewhere along the line of the 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


91 


Northern Pacific Railroad — and her white hat, 
with its wreath of pink roses, was dingy with 
cinders. 

Sarah Dakota had an uncomfortable con- 
sciousness that she was not nearly as stylish 
looking as the girl in gray, and she knew, too, 
in a vague, undefinable way, that the girl in 
gray was aware of this. Ever since the latter 
had gotten on the cars at Buffalo, Sarah Da- 
kota, with true Western heartiness had yearned 
to make friends with her. She was the only 
through passenger of her own age and sex. It 
would be much more satisfactory to become 
acquainted with her than with people who got 
off at the next station. 

Evidently the girl in gray was traveling some 
distance. She was going somewhere in New 
York State, too, for she had asked the con- 
ductor about changing cars at Syracuse. 

It would be delightful to get acquainted with 
her; to sit in the same seat with her and talk 
about the persons and places they saw. 

Sarah Dakota had had such a long journey 
since she left her father at St. Paul. The ex- 
citement of seeing new scenes was wearing 
away into dreary monotony. She was weary of 
the shifting, changing views, of the opening 


92 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


and shutting of the car door, of the conductor’s 
demand for “tickets,” of the brakeman’s un- 
intelligible shouting out the names of stations. 

It would be charming to sit down and have a 
friendly chat and tell somebody about the trip she 
had had, and get somebody’s sympathy and en- 
couragement. 

Perhaps the girl in gray might chance to tell 
her where she got the pattern of her pretty gown 
and the make of her gloves. 

Just here Sarah Dakota imagined that she 
was thirsty. She rose and walked down the 
aisle to the water tank. It was nearly empty, 
of course, and the ice in it was a dream of the 
past. Sarah Dakota sipped a little and then 
sauntered back. She paused near the arm of 
the seat in which sat the girl in gray. 

“It's dreadful warm, ain’t it?” remarked 
Sarah Dakota in an awkward way. 

The girl in gray looked up in a sort of lofty 
surprise at being thus addressed. She reached 
up her daintily gloved hand and smoothed out 
a wrinkle in the thin veil just covering the tip of 
her aristocratic nose. 

“It is oppressive,” she replied icily. 

“Ain’t you tired of traveling?” persisted 
Sarah Dakota. “7 am!” Then, in a burst of 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


93 


confidence, “I’ve traveled ever so far. Come 
from away out West. I saw you get on at 
Buffalo, I did, and I’ve been aching to talk to 
you ever since. I didn’t know but what you 
lived out West, too — not so far as I do, but in 
Chicago maybe. That isn’t so very far west, 
is it? It’s in Illinois, isn’t it? I’ve whizzed 
through so many States that I’ve got ’em mixed 
up!” 

“No, indeed, I don’t live in Chicago!” said 
the girl in gray, with a curl of her lip. “I am 
a New Yawker,” and there was an affected 
absence of the letter “r” in her pronunciation. 

“ 0 ! ” said the Western girl rather abashed, 
and then she added, brightening a little: “I’ve 
got some relations that are New Yorkers. I'm 
on my way to ’em now. But, I say! Pappy 
tossed me a big box of candy the last thing at 
St. Paul. He threw it in the window. It fell 
right on my lap. I could hardly see what it was 
at first because — because — because I was cry- 
ing, you know! But it’s real nice candy. I’ll 
go back to my seat and get you some. They’re 
lovely chocolate drops.” 

“Thanks!” said the girl in gray, and she 
said it rather tartly. “Thanks, but I don't wish 
any. I don’t care much for chocolates. If 


94 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


they’re hard, they’re not fit to eat, and if 
they’re soft, they’re so mussy!” And she 
turned abruptly and looked out of the window. 

Sarah Dakota returned to her seat consider- 
ably crestfallen. She hadn’t expected that her 
friendly overtures would be so repulsed. 

“If all Eastern girls are like her, I don’t want 
much to do with them,” she muttered. “She 
is as puckery as a wild plum when it isn't ripe. 
To think of being too stuck-up to take my choco- 
late drops — such elegant ones — and I meant to 
be so friendly !” 

Now it so happened that there was some one 
in the car who would not ignore a generous offer 
of sweeties. In the same seat with the girl in 
gray sat her brother, a little six-year-old lad in 
kilts, with a frank face and merry eyes. He, 
too, had had a long, tiresome journey. His sister 
had taken little pains to amuse him. She had 
been absorbed in a flashy novel, or else engaged 
in an animated conversation with a very dudish 
young man just across the aisle — a young man 
gotten up in the latest style, with plaid trousers, 
silk hat, diamond scarf pin, and an almost in- 
visible mustache. The little brother had been 
left to his own devices, the only attention re- 
ceived from his sister being sundry scoldings 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


95 


for his begrimed face and hands, his crumpled 
sailor collar, and his Oliver Twist demands for 
“more” whenever a breezy opening of the car 
door wafted in the train boy with his vocifer- 
ous shout of “Peanuts!” “Caramels!” “Pop- 
corn!” 

The mention of chocolate drops made the 
little lad in kilts take an abiding interest in 
Sarah Dakota. He leaned over the back of 
the seat and looked at her with a mildly ex- 
pectant air. 

Sarah Dakota smiled at him. It was a very 
rueful sort of smile, for she had not gotten over 
her recent rebuff. But the smile answered the 
purpose very well. The little lad smiled back 
at her — a generous smile this time, wide and 
friendly, and disclosing an empty space where 
two milk teeth were missing. Then he slid 
slowly out of his seat, past his sister — getting a 
sharp reproof as he stepped on her natty little 
toes, though she was too busy conversing with 
the plaid-trousered young man to say much just 
then. She was evidently regaling him with an 
account of Sarah Dakota's offer of chocolates, 
for there were sundry giggles and guffaws and 
quizzical glances toward the dowdy little West- 


erner. 


96 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Sarah Dakota felt her cheeks grow hot. She 
had never been laughed at before except by her 
father, and that in a fond, good-natured way. 
She could hardly endure the indignity. 

“I just wish those two sillies were out West 
once! ,, she muttered, as she nervously tried to 
straighten her hat and wipe the grime and per- 
spiration from her neck and forehead. “They 
wouldn't feel so fine and stuck-up. I'd like to 
see them on the prairie with the wind blowing 
as we have it. Guess that girl wouldn’t look 
so trig and that young man’s hat ’d go flying 
off toward a gopher’s hole. My! I wonder if 
he could ride a bucking broncho or lasso a 
maverick. Or, suppose some Sioux ’d chase 
him!” and Sarah Dakota relieved her feelings 
greatly by imagining the picturesque details and 
dramatic effect of such a scene ! She had just 
gotten to the delightful climax of seeing the 
dudish young man, spent by fright and exer- 
tion, reach a place of safety (she was not so 
hard hearted as to want him really scalped) 
when she was aroused from her rather question- 
able mental tableaux by a piping voice saying, 
“Have you got your chocolate drops in that 
blue box?” and, on looking up, she beheld 
the little lad in kilts leaning over the arm of her 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


97 


seat in a most delightfully insinuating man- 
ner. 

“Yes, there’s chocolates in the box; won't 
you have some?" and she put some in his 
grimy hand. 

“Thank you. 0, I like to be here!" he 
said ingenuously as he climbed up and sat be- 
side her. “ Your seat is comfortabler 'n ours, 
seems to me, though maybe it’s ’cause Jule 
spreads her skirts out all over and only gives 
me a teenty, tawnty place to sit in. And she 
scolds if I wriggle around or crumple her." 

“ Is your sister’s name Julia?" inquired 
Sarah Dakota, glad to keep up the conversation. 

“ Yes — or, I mean it’s Juliet. I don’t know 
the man's name, though. I guess he ain’t so 
very old, do you? His whiskers are so short 
and fuzzy and caterpillar-y. I wonder what 
makes him wear checkerboard trousers. He 
seems to think that he’s awful nice, but I don't. 
Do you?" 

“No!" came promptly and decidedly from 
Sarah Dakota's lips. 

“You see," continued the boy, “he tried to 
tease me by asking me if I wasn’t a little girl. 
That’s ’cause of my curls, you know. I’ve 
teased mamma one — two — forty 'leven times to 
7 


98 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


have ’em cut off, but she won’t. And all the 
boys on our block make fun of me, and so did 
this checkerboard trouser man. He wouldn’t 
let me have his knife either, and he acted mad 
when I gave him ice water out of the silver mug 
Jule always carries. How ’d I know that it was 
going to slop over on his shiny boots. Jule 
said I was ‘shockingly awkward,’ but I guess 
she’d been, too, if she’d been holding the 
cup plum full and the cars ’d given a great 
jolt. But I say, may I have a couple more 
chocolate drops? You’ve got such a lot ! I’m 
afraid they’d make you sick if you eat them 
all. Your papa must have been good to give 
you so much candy. Where is he now? In 
the smoking car? My papa ’most always goes 
in the smoking car when we travel.” 

“Mine isn’t there. He isn’t on this train at 
all — he’s ever so far away.” 

“Is that what makes the sorry look on your 
face? I asked Jule if she didn’t think you 
looked so, and she said that she guessed if you 
did, it was because of your hat.” 

“My hat!” Sarah Dakota exclaimed, and 
then her face flushed. So then, while she had 
been admiring the costume of the girl in gray, 
the latter had been criticising her attire. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


99 


‘ ‘ What did your sister say about my clothes ?’ ' 
she asked, rather tartly. 

“I don't remember just what, only she said 
something about your dress being red and your 
hair red, too. My hair's red, too, but I don't 
mind. The boys call me ‘ sorrel top ’ and 
‘ brickbat ' and holler ‘ fire ! ' But I say, are 
you going far on the cars? Where is your 
home?" 

“I don’t know as I have a home," said the 
girl, speaking more to herself than to her inter- 
locutor. “ I have been living in the West." 

“More west than Chicago? I was there last 
winter. We went right by the place where 
the stable was that the cow kicked over the 
lantern in that set the whole city ablaze. O, 
I’ve traveled around a good deal. I’m going 
now to my uncle's. It’s the one that sent me 
a singing-top last Christmas. I've got two 
aunts, too. They sent Juliet her earrings. 
And so you live out West — ever so far ! Is it 
where the Buffalo Bills are?" 

The little lad's mind was rather confused as 
to the famous and dashing Cody and roaming 
bisons. 

“Yes, Buffalo Bill has been out there. I 
saw him once. My father is acquainted with 


100 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


him, * ’ Sarah Dakota replied. ‘ ‘ And there used 
to be lots of other buffaloes out there, but there 
aren’t any now, only one poor, lean, mangy 
one that Mr. Dart keeps to exhibit to tourists, 
and I heard he was going to send that to the 
Yellowstone Park. 0, yes, there used to be 
lots of buffaloes, and now when you go out on 
the prairie you can see their bones and their 
wallows.” 

“Is their wallows their skin?” the boy asked- 
earnestly. 

“It’s the path they made when they walked 
along, one by one. It looks like a furrow that 
a plow has made. You’ve seen that, haven’t 
you?” 

“On a farm, once, when we were out in the 
country. We’re going out to the country now, 
but it’s a different place. We're going to my 
papa’s brother and sister. It’s a big farm and 
there are cows and horses, chickens and sheep, 
a spring and a grape-vine swing and lots of 
woods. Papa used to live there. It’s a real 
nice place, he says. Jule doesn’t want to go, 
though! She says it’ll be like being buried 
alive ! She wanted to go to Europe with papa 
and mamma, but they thought she ought to 
stay here and go to school. She made a 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


101 


fuss. Said she just hated to go to Van Dorn 
Farm !” 

‘ ‘ What name did you say ! * * and Sarah 
Dakota turned eagerly toward him. 

“It’s to Van Dorn Farm we’re going. My 
uncle and aunts live there. My name is Bogar- 
dus Van Dorn, but ’most everybody calls me 
‘Garde.’ Why-ee ! What makes you look 
so 'stonished?” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE ARRIVAL OF THE COUSINS. 

HE clock struck six just as Miss Barbara 



1 Van Dorn was giving the last touches to an 
elaborately spread tea table. The effect was 
very good she thought complacently as she 
stepped back to view her work. 

First of all there were the spotless damask 
cloth, the shining silverware, the crystal gleam 
of glass, and the dainty china. A large bouquet 
of scarlet geraniums surrounded by their own 
emerald leaves gave a bright touch to the table. 
Then, for taste other than aesthetic, there were 
many delicacies for the inner man. Biscuits 
and rolls as light as a feather, and sweet brown 
bread ; there was a great ball of golden butter 
and near it a glass pitcher full of yellow cream ; 
there were sponge cake and cocoanut cakes and 
lemon jelly with whipped cream piled high upon 
it — a dish which Miss Barbara called “dream 
of snow;’* there were balls of cottage cheese 
and crisp, green pickles, plum preserves, and 
raspberry jam. As for things more substantial, 
why everyone knew by the savory smell per- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


103 


vading the air that out in the oven was a great 
platter of fried chicken, and near it a tureen of 
potato croquettes. 

Miss Barbara looked at the clock as it struck 
and then at the table, and finally her gaze wan- 
dered out of the window toward the gate and 
farther roadway. 

The garden was bright with asters and ver- 
benas, and the borders were outlined in white 
sweet alyssum with golden brown bees hovering 
over it. There were tall spikes of pink, red, 
and buff gladioli. There were pansies, mi- 
gnonette, and sweet peas, and on either side of 
the gateway like gayly attired sentinels were 
tall hollyhocks with ruffled rosettes of white, deep 
red, and rich yellow. 

The air was ripe with the lingering sunshine. 
The river sparkled in the clear light ; the 
meadows bordering it were as green and fresh 
as in springtime. Here and there in them 
were dots of white and purple pink where a few 
tall daisies and clover remained. 

“It is time they should be here,” remarked 
Miss Barbara, as she smoothed down the folds 
of her black silk gown. “I guess the train has 
come. I thought I heard its whistle at least 
ten minutes ago and saw some smoke over by 


104 


SARAH DAKOTA. 




the river bridge. They were to come by the 
West Shore. Guy !” she called, going out into 
the hall and stopping at the foot of the stairs, 
“Guy, aren’t you ready? Come down if you 
are, for I expect them every moment. Come, 
that’s a dear boy !” 

“Yes, ma’am,” answered a sleepy voice, and 
presently, in a lazy, shambling way, the owner 
of the voice came down the stairs. Guy had 
evidently made some attempts at fixing up, for 
he had on his best suit, a neat navy blue, but 
he had forgotten to change his collar, and while 
the toes of his shoes were black and shining, 
the heels showed a dusty rim and his hair had 
been given what Thirza Ann, the hired girl, 
called a “lick and a promise,” which meant 
that it had had a hasty brushing in front, while 
in the rear it was tousled and untidy. 

However, he looked so much better than 
usual that Miss Barbara, who was slightly 
nearsighted, was quite pleased, and did not re- 
prove him when he went around to the side of 
the table and helped himself to a slice of cake 
and a spray of candied grapes. 

Guy was something of a gormand as well as 
a student, and between his over-study and his 
over-eating his health suffered greatly. 


I 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


105 


“I suppose a fellow had better get a bite 
while he has the chance," he observed more to 
himself than to his aunt. “When those girls 
come there won’t be much left. Girls are 
great hands for cakes and goodies of all sorts. 
I think they’re selfish, and I don’t see why folks 
seem to think that they must be waited on and 
all that.’’ 

“I hope you will be courteous, my dear,’’ 
said Miss Barbara as she rubbed her eyeglasses 
and looked somewhat severely at her nephew. 
“You must remember that in a certain sense 
you will be sort of a host to your cousins. You 
have lived here nearly all your life and so feel 
free to avail yourself of many privileges, while 
these girls are strangers and away from their 
parents and so they may feel somewhat awk- 
ward. It will be your place and in your power 
to make them feel at home." 

“I’d like to make 'em feel at home — at their 
own home, I mean!" growled Guy. “I just 
wish they’d stayed there!" 

“Tut! tut! tut! that is ungentlemanly. I 
don’t want to hear any more of it. Now, I 
think you will be all the better for their coming. 
Sister Katrinka says that you need young com- 
panions. I am afraid that you’ve had your 


106 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


own way too much and so are inclined to be self- 
ish, my dear.” 

“I don’t think I am,” said Guy carelessly, 
as he helped himself to the largest and softest 
cushioned chair the room contained. “I don’t 
mean to be selfish, but I must say that I think 
girls are an awful bore. So are boys, too — 
the running, shouting, jumping kind that are 
always talking about hunting, climbing, and 
baseball. They make me nervous. And 
girls are such sillies ! They don’t care for 
books — only novels, maybe. I dare say these 
cousins of mine’ll pester the life out of me, 
wanting to drag me here and there, to do this 
and that, so that I sha’n’t have a moment’s 
peace!” — rocking and scowling for a little 
while and then adding coaxingly, “ I say, 
auntie, when you pass around that ‘ Dream of 
Snow,’ don’t cram the dishes so full that I can’t 
have a second supply, will you? I think it’s 
prime, the way you make it.” 

But Aunt Barbara was for once oblivious to 
compliments on her cooking. She was looking 
eagerly out of the window. 

4 ‘ There they come ! ” she exclaimed with her 
purple cap strings all a-flutter. “There they 
come — your papa and Sister Katrinka, and 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


107 


they’ve got the children with them. I’m glad 
they took the ‘democrat’ wagon — it’s so 
roomy. Come, let us go out to the front door to 
meet them, it seems so much more cordial," and 
Miss Barbara bustled, from the dining room, 
leaving her young nephew to follow more 
leisurely, which he did, after helping himself 
to another bunch of grapes. 

The two spirited bay horses brought the 
‘ ‘ democrat ’ ’ wagon up the broad carriage way 
in fine style. Uncle Roscoe was driving. Beside 
him sat Sarah Dakota, with a pleased expres- 
sion on her travel-stained face. Like a true 
Western lass, she knew a good horse when she 
saw it, and Uncle Roscoe’ s pets with their sleek 
skins and waving manes won her admiration 
at once. Besides, the sight of her new home, 
the great, white farmhouse standing out in the 
red gold sunset, with the wide front door hospi- 
tably open and Aunt Barbara’s friendly face 
peering out, was a sight far from uninviting to 
a weary traveler. 

She quite forgot the ‘ ‘ girl in gray ’ ’ who sat 
on the seat behind her, conversing in a languid 
way with Aunt Katrinka. Ever since the rev- 
elation had come to Sarah Dakota on the cars 
through the little lad, who had said “ My name 


108 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


is Bogardus Van Dorn and Jule’s is Juliet Van 
Dorn, and we’re both going to the Van Dorn 
Farm in the pretty Mohawk valley,” she had felt 
annoyed and depressed. It was not pleasant 
to think that the girl in gray who had snubbed 
her so unmercifully and criticised her so super- 
ciliously was her own cousin. It was not at 
all agreeable information — the knowing that 
they were going to live together in the same 
house. Probably the new uncle and aunts 
would think ever so much more of Juliet than 
of her, Sarah Dakota thought, as a little venom 
of jealousy crept in. Juliet was so bright and 
pretty, so graceful and easy in her manners. 

“ She had areal high-toned air about her, 
even when she handed her ticket to the con- 
ductor. And she looks so trig and trim even 
after her long journey. There doesn’t seem to 
be a bit of dust settled on her.” 

Sarah Dakota had paid little attention to the 
numerous visits paid to the toilet room at the 
end of the car, which had kept many persons 
out of their rightful privileges; she had not 
noticed the soft sponge, the linen towel, the 
^cologne and powder puff with which Juliet, an 
accomplished and experienced traveler, re- 
freshed herself. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


109 


“Then when we met Uncle Roscoe and the 
aunties,” Sarah Dakota continued, “Juliet 
seemed to know just what to say to them. She 
smiled sweetly, she bowed gracefully, she shook 
hands with a high-bred air that seemed to im- 
press even stately Aunt Katrinka. I know I 
didn’t make a good impression — I felt it in my 
bones.” 

Sarah Dakota was conscious of feeling tall 
and awkward ; her voice seemed to sound 
strangely loud and coarse beside Juliet’s music- 
al little piping; she dropped in some Western- 
isms that made Uncle Roscoe stare; besides 
which, she stepped on his toes as he kindly as- 
sisted her into the “democrat,” and she knew 
by the agony on his face that he must have a 
whole plantation of corns. 

Had it not been for little Garde, who still 
bestowed his friendly attentions on her, snug- 
gling up to her and chattering incessantly, she 
would have found her situation unbearable. 
But then, too, as we have said, the handsome, 
high-stepping horses drew her attention, and 
after that the pleasant home coming banished 
for a time all disagreeable fancies. 

“I think it’s a perfectly lovely place,” she 
exclaimed enthusiastically as she and Juliet were 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


1 10 

preparing to retire for the night in the pleasant 
little room allotted to them. 

A supercilious smile was on Juliet’s face as 
she answered, “Lovely? I suppose it is for a 
country place. Everybody raves over the Mo- 
hawk valley. But the country’s stupid — al- 
ways. I hate it! I didn’t want to come here 
at all. I think it’s too bad I had to come. If 
mamma and papa didn’t want to take me to 
Europe, why they might have let me go to 
Saratoga and Newport with the Goldenbergs. 
Mrs. Goldenberg invited me to. They’re aw- 
fully nice people to be with — so rich and stylish. 
I’d have had a charming time I know. But now, 
to be obliged to stay here at this poky place 
with a couple of prim old aunts, why, I think 
it’s dreadful.” 

“I don’t think they’re very prim,” said 
Sarah Dakota warmly. “ Even Aunt Katrinka 
is real nice when you know her. She was 
rather dignified at first, but don’t you remem- 
ber how she laughed at the table when Garde 
made some of his funny speeches? I think both 
the aunties want us to be happy here. Look, 
what a pleasant room they have given us,” — 
and the little Westerner’s glance swept in a sat- 
isfied way around the apartment. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Ill 


It was plainly but neatly furnished with a buff 
chamber set, a blue carpet on the floor and old- 
fashioned paper on the walls . The two windows 
facing the east were draped with white dotted 
muslin. A cozy rocking-chair upholstered in 
blue and pink chintz stood near one of them, 
and a light wicker chair, decked with ribbons, 
near the other. 

The dressing table had a white cover trimmed 
with netted fringe, and the looking-glass above 
it had a gilt scroll frame, while its upper panel 
contained a picture of a little girl with rosy 
cheeks and a blue gown. “That glass came 
from Holland years and years ago,” Miss Bar- 
bara had explained when she accompanied the 
girls to their new quarters. 

There were some engravings on the wall of 
the room — copies of celebrated paintings. 
There was a bookcase in the corner containing 
a few old-fashioned volumes that Miss Katrinka 
had considered suitable for a young lady’s 
library, such as The Children of the Abbey, Sir 
Walter Scott’s novels, the Works of Hannah 
More , Tupper’s Poems , and Decorum for aYoung 
Miss. 

There were flowers in the quaint china vases 
on the mantel and flowers on the little white 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


1 12 

draped table at the head of the bed. Every- 
thing was spotlessly clean and fresh, and Sarah 
Dakota, accustomed to the rough and raw ways 
of a Western ranch, thought the room was 
marvelously complete. 

“Do you really think it’s so nice?” said 
Juliet, with a curl of the lip. “You are easily 
pleased, I must say. You just ought to see 
my room in New York. It’s perfectly elegant. 
I have an exquisite little dressing room adjoin- 
ing it, and the sides of the bathroom are lovely 
pink and white tiles and the ceiling is covered 
with frescoes of ‘Aphrodite rising from the 
waves.’ ” 

“Is that a ship or a fish?” Sarah Dakota 
asked, innocently. 

Juliet giggled. “It's neither. It was a 
woman — a Greek goddess. I guess you 
aren’t up in mythology, are you? But about 
this room — why, our servants at home have a 
better. I don’t see,” petulantly, “I don’t see 
why, seeing we’re guests, the aunts didn't let 
us have the guest chamber. That’s a great big 
room, quite fine, though the furniture is very 
old-fashioned to be sure. It’s mahogany, and 
the carpet is velvet.” 

* ‘ Maybe they want to keep that for grown- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


113 


up company,” suggested Sarah Dakota. “I 
heard Aunt Katrinka say that the minister 
comes here and stays sometimes.” 

“0,yes!” with a toss of the head. “They’re 
always entertaining ministers. I’ve heard papa 
say that his old home used to be called the 
‘theological tavern.’ That was in the old 
squire’s time — our grandfather, you know. I 
suppose the aunties keep up the fashion. Now, 
I think I’m just as good as any minister, and, 
besides, I’m used to nice things, which most 
ministers aren’t, and it’s awfully trying to be 
obliged to stay in a room where one can touch 
the ceiling with one’s hand.” 

“That’s only at the other end, where the roof 
slopes down. I rather like it ; it makes one feel 
like a little chicken under an old hen’s wing.” 

“0, my!” and Juliet’s voice was full of 
mild sarcasm. -“I thought you Westerners were 
so full of business and bustle that you didn’t 
have time for any poetical thoughts. Old hen, 
indeed. Well, if you want to be tucked under 
it’s wing, suppose you roll your bed over there 
— that’ll give me more room at this end,” and 
Juliet began unceremoniously to push one of the 
two neat, white cots toward the corner where 
the roof sloped down. 

8 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


1 14 

Sarah Dakota took hold and helped her, 
making no objections to this arrangement, 
though she said to herself, “It seems mean of 
her to want all that place by the windows, 
where the air’ll come in cool and refreshing. 
I’m sorry now that I gave her the upper 
drawers of the bureau when we unpacked our 
things. I thought I’d be polite and please her, 
because I once read a story of a girl at a board- 
ing school, who gave the upper drawer to her 
roommate, and it made the roommate feel real 
friendly to her. I know the upper drawers are 
ever so much more convenient, for one doesn’t 
have to get down on one’s knees to take things 
out. But I don’t think Cousin Juliet appreci- 
ates it very much” — and Sarah Dakota laid 
her head wearily on the cool, lavender-scented 
linen pillow and soon fell asleep. 

Down stairs the elder Van Dorns were dis- 
cussing their youthful guests. 

“That little Garde is a clever youngster,” 
remarked Uncle Roscoe, as he wound up the 
clock. 

“Yes,” said Aunt Katrinka. “I’m glad 
the child came, though to be sure it was quite a 
surprise, for Joshua didn’t say anything about 
sending him.” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


115 


“ It’s a wise thing he concluded to send him 
here, for I don't know how they could have 
gotten along with him in Europe ” — laughing. 
“He’d tumble down the crater of a volcano, 
get drowned in the lochs of Scotland, or be 
stolen by brigands in Italy. He’s ubiquitous, 
that boy is. He hasn’t been here four hours 
and he’s been half over the farm and got ac- 
quainted with all the hired help, to say nothing 
of the horses and cattle, pigs and poultry. 
He’ll keep things lively, Master Bogardus will.” 

“The girls are lively, too,” said Miss Ka- 
trinka. 

“I do think Juliet is charming,” Miss Bar- 
bara exclaimed, enthusiastically. “Her man- 
ners are so polite. Sarah Dakota is rather — 
well, rather abrupt and brusque ; didn’t you ob- 
serve it, Katrinka?” 

“Yes; but, dear me, what can you expect 
from a girl who has been brought up mother- 
less out among Indians and cowboys?” 

“Now see here, ladies,” remarked Uncle 
Roscoe, as he paused in the doorway, lamp in 
hand, preparatory to retiring to his bedroom; 
“now see here. I imagine the time will come 
when you will modify your opinion as to those 
two girls. I must own to taking a notion to 


116 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


our little Westerner. She’s overgrown, raw, 
awkward, lacking in all airs and graces, but 
there’s good sound sense to her — a mind, a 
will, and a heart — and I like her — in spite of the 
fact that she made my pet corn throb with 
agony.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE FIRST SUNDAY. 

'THE morning sun streamed in brightly at the 
window of the “Old Hen with the Wing,” 
as Sarah Dakota opened her eyes that first 
Sunday at the Van Dorn farm. It shone on the 
old-fashioned wall paper where short-waisted 
ladies, in pink gowns with puffed sleeves, wan- 
dered up and down green trellises gathering 
dropsical apples and pears. One beam fell 
across Juliet’s face as she lay asleep, but she 
never even blinked. 

Sarah Dakota looked at her admiringly. 

“How pretty she is!” she exclaimed. “All 
pink and white like a doll. And her hair is so 
smooth and shining, as though she had just 
brushed it. And her nightgown is trimmed — 
my! isn’t it? Ruffles and lace and little satin 
bows. I wish mine were that way.” And she 
looked down regretfully at her own very plain 
cotton gown, with its clumsy, untrimmed cuffs 
and collar and coarse agate buttons. Old 
Antonia had bought the cloth of a peddler. It 
was unbleached, but it was “stout enough to 


118 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


stand the wind,” which was something to be 
thought of in that Western place, where the 
mad breeze came rushing down from the bluffs 
every morning, making great havoc with 
clotheslines. 

The new Mrs. Vandecar, fond, as all refined 
women are, of dainty underwear, had sug- 
gested buying some fine cambric and nainsook, 
but Sarah Dakota had declined loftily, saying 
that old Antonia’s choice was good enough for 
her. She was sorry now as she lay there that 
Sunday morning, and she was then quite una- 
ware that lying at the bottom of the big trunk 
were two pretty white nightrobes, all embroid- 
ered and lace trimmed, placed there by the 
kind stepmother whose advice she had so 
scorned. 

There was a rustling and a tumbling in the 
adjoining room, where Garde had slept in a big 
maple crib of his ancestors, and now he came 
cantering out with one shoe on and the heel of 
his stocking around on his instep. 

“ Is Jule asleep yet? My! ain’t she lazy?” 
was his whispered salutation. 

“Did you hear the birds sing?” he contin- 
ued. “ There was a big robin on the tree right 
under my window. He had a red stomach, and 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


119 


his throat swelled out just so, and he kept 
singing : 

“ ‘ Robert Willett 
Bought a skillet — 

Bought a skillet, 

Nice and clean ! ’ 

“That’s what the nurse I used to have in 
New York told me the robins said. And it 
sounds just so. Say, will you fix my sleeve? 
It’s turned outside in, and the buttonholes 
jump off the buttons.” 

“What made you get up so early?” said 
Sarah Dakota, laughing as she helped dress the 
little lad. 

“0, it isn’t so very early, is it? The robins 
have been up so long, and so has the sun. 
Isn't it funny, that he always gets up on time? 
Do you s’pose God whispers in his ear that it is 
time to get up and light and warm the world? 
I guess he does, and then the sun jumps right 
up — he washes his face in the ocean. I saw 
him once when we were at the seashore. And 
then he drives the clouds before him, and all 
the little stars shut their eyes, for it’s their sleep 
time now; and it’s time for breakfast, and — 
and we have pancakes!” And Garde ended 
thus suddenly, having combined prose and 
poetry at an astonishing rate. 


120 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


‘ ‘ Where are you going when you’re dressed ?* ’ 
Sarah Dakota inquired, feeling a sense of re- 
sponsibility as the child turned to leave the 
room. “Where are you going? I don’t be- 
lieve any of the folks are up yet.” 

“0, yes they are. This is such a big house 
that you can’t hear sounds from one end to the 
other. I’m going to holler real loud sometime 
and see if one can,” reflectively, and then 
Garde added, “Yes, the folks are up. At 
least Aunt Barbara is. I peeked out of my 
window and saw her in the garden gathering 
sweet peas. She had her skirts rolled up on 
account of the dew, and she had a big shears. 
And the cows are down in the barnyard, too. 
They’re going to be milked. Mr. Jabez, the 
hired man — the one with the wart on his nose — 
told me so. Isn’t it funny? In the city we 
get milk from a shiny tin can, but here they get 
it from cows. And there’s yellow scum on this 
milk. I like yellow scum, don’t you? It was 
nice on the berries we had last night. But, 
good-bye — I’m going now.” 

“Very well. Be a good boy, and don’t get 
into mischief. Tell the two aunties that I’ll be 
down soon.” And when the door closed after 
her little cousin, Sarah Dakota sprang out of 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


121 


bed and hurriedly began to dress. The big, 
squatty pitcher slipped a little as she lifted it 
to pour out water with which to bathe her face 
and hands, and the clatter aroused Juliet, who 
sleepily rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed, 
asking : 

“What's that racket? And what are you 
getting up at such an unearthly hour for?" 

“It isn't so very unearthly. It’s going on 
eight o'clock," her cousin answered, composed- 
ly, as she rubbed her glowing face and scrubbed 
her teeth with a brand-new toothbrush — the 
latter having been recently purchased with a 
view of putting on “Eastern ways." “It 
isn’t so very early," Sarah Dakota continued. 
“That little brother of yours was wide-awake 
long ago. He's all dressed and gone down 
stairs." 

“0, Garde’s always up first," his sister said, 
petulantly. “It is that way at home. He gen- 
erally eats two breakfasts and has lots of ad- 
ventures before any of us are up. Nurse 
Elizabeth attends to him, though. I think 
mamma might have had a maid for him here — 
he’s a perfect little terror. I suppose I shall 
have to see to him now. It’ll be an awful 
bother. I promised mamma that I would see 


122 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


that his face and hands were clean and his hair 
brushed. She also said something about his 
prayers, but I sha’n’t fuss about those." 

‘ ‘ I saw about his face and hands and his 
hair, ’ ’ said Sarah Dakota. ‘ ‘ But, ’ ’ hesitatingly, 
“ I didn't do anything about the prayers." 

“ O, it’s no matter," yawning and stretching 
her round, white arms above her head. “ I think 
it's all nonsense, anyhow, fussing with such a 
young one. He doesn't know what he’s say- 
ing, and he always gets his prayer twisted 
hindside before. It makes one nervous to listen 
to him. Heigh-ho ! I suppose I shall have to 
get up. The aunts have breakfast pretty early 
on Sunday anyway, because it’s rather far to 
church. That’ll be another bore here. Don’t 
you hate going to church?" 

Sarah Dakota didn’t answer at first. Then 
she said, soberly, “I — I don’t know; I never 
went." 

The languid expression on her cousin’s face 
changed to one of astonishment. Then she 
laughed — rather disagreeably, Sarah Dakota 
thought — and said : 

"O, I forgot. You do come from heathen- 
dom, don’t you? I’ve always heard that there’s 
very little civilization out West. I suppose that 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


123 


the population consists of nothing but Sioux 
Indians and cowboys, and of course they don’t 
care much to hear the Gospel preached — and, 
for that matter, I don't either," yawning. 

“I m afraid I don’t like Juliet very well," 
said the little Westerner to herself, as she went 
down stairs a few minutes later. “ Somehow 
she’s always saying things that are not pleas- 
ant." 

But Juliet could say very pleasant things too, 
and she said them when she sailed down to 
breakfast a little later, looking cool and dainty 
in a white muslin gown, with belt and shoulder 
knots of rosy ribbon. She asked smilingly 
about everybody’s health. Her musical voice 
had a tone of genuine solicitude in it as she 
said that she was so afraid that ‘‘Dear Aunt 
Barbara would get rheumatism out in the damp- 
ness of early morning. But what lovely flow- 
ers she had gathered. Such exquisite arrange- 
ment of colors! And," coquettishly, “Uncle 
Roscoe’s necktie was just a little awry. Would 
he be so kind as to let her fix it? Aunt Katrinka 
had put honey on the table for her — she was 
quite sure of it. Surely some little bird must 
have told her that she liked it better for cakes 
than maple syrup — though, to be sure, Van 


124 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Dorn farm syrup was the nicest in the world — 
so clear and delicious !” 

So she quite took the Van Dorn family by 
storm, and everybody overlooked the plaintive 
remark made by little Garde that “ Jule called 
the big bunch of sweet clover he had gathered 
for her nasty weeds, and that he should just 
march out with it, or she’d slap him!” 

The Van Dorns had a good, old-fashioned 
way of having family prayers. Uncle Roscoe 
led, though it was expected that everyone 
should read a verse in turn. He had a deep, 
melodious voice, full of expression; his sisters 
read in a prim, old-fashioned, but very reverent 
way; Guy’s reading was clear voiced and cor- 
rect; Juliet read in a well-modulated tone, and 
with perfect pronunciation. But when it came 
to Sarah Dakota’s turn, she was conscious that 
she stuttered and stammered, mispronounced 
words, and wholly ignored all punctuation 
marks. She was not used to reading much — 
to reading aloud not at all. 

“Now I’ve made a fool of myself!” she 
thought, as she winked back the tears that 
wanted to fall on her plate, as a little later she 
sat at the breakfast table. “Uncle Roscoe 
looked uneasy, the aunties shocked, and that 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


125 


big, frowzle-headed dictionary and encyclo- 
pedia of a Guy snickered, and Juliet was gig- 
gling behind her handkerchief. I don’t see 
why the verse with the names of all those Asia 
churches should come to me anyway. There 
was a verse just before it that I could have read 
very nicely. I was used to it, too, for I had 
seen it in my little red Bible. I can say it al- 
most by heart : ‘ And the Lord shall deliver 
me from every evil work, and will preserve me 
unto his holy kingdom.’ ” 

She turned the words over and over again in 
her mind as she sat at the table. “Seems to 
me if folks really believed that, they wouldn’t 
have much to worry about. But nobody seems 
real contented — no matter how much folks have 
got, they’re always wanting something more. 
It’s money, or health, or fine clothes, or honors 
— there's always a-hungering and a-longing. I 
wonder if there's anybody really satisfied in this 
world. I wonder if that is what is meant by 
the verse, ‘ Ask, and ye shall receive ; knock, 
and it shall be opened unto you ; seek, and ye 
shall find ?”' 

Her musings were interrupted by Aunt Ka- 
trinka saying pleasantly as the family rose from 
the table : 


126 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“You’ll have to hurry a little, girls. We 
start for church at half past ten. I trust you 
will be ready and down in the hall by that time. 
I never like to have any member of my house- 
hold late at church. It is much better to be a 
little early, so as to be able to be in a calm, 
composed frame of mind, and ready to receive 
the word of God as it shall be preached to 
us." 

“Dear me! It's after nine o'clock now!" 
said Juliet, as the girls went up the stairs to- 
gether. “I don't see how I shall have time to 
compose myself into a proper frame of mind. 
It takes me dreadfully long to dress. I hate to 
be obliged to hurry; it makes one get all red 
and perspiring. I’ve got to frizz my hair — I 
was too tired and sleepy last night to do it up on 
crimpers — and there isn't a single gas jet in this 
old Noah's Ark of a house, and I shall have 
to hold the frizzing irons over the smoky kero- 
sene lamp. And there's Garde to see to. He’s 
an awful child to dress. One can’t keep him 
still long enough to put on anything or fasten 
it. Say, dear cousin," in a wheedling tone, 
“say, won’t you dress him? Just this once, 
you know. He’ll be lots better with you than 
with me. I get provoked so quickly and slap 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


127 


him or box his ears, and then he howls and it 
sets my nerves all on edge. 0, do dress him, 
that's a darling. Now, won't you?" 

“Why, of course I will," said Sarah Da- 
kota, brightly, for she was pleased to think that 
Juliet was beginning to be friendly. “I'd just 
as soon do it as not." 

But it was more of a task than she expected. 
It took nearly an hour before Garde, with 
freshly washed face and hands and with his red 
curls brushed until they were sleek and shining, 
and like “beautiful molasses candy," as he 
himself expressed it, was arrayed in his ruffled, 
white waist and Lord Fauntleroy velvet suit. 

One hasty glance at the clock, and then Sarah 
Dakota, with flushed face and nervous air, be- 
gan to dress herself. 

First of all, her hair bothered her; it was all 
in kinks and tangles. Garde had been playing 
blacksmith with it while she was dressing him. 
Playing blacksmith meant thrusting his fore- 
finger among her glowing locks and then 
pounding it upon his knee for an anvil. 

“That's the way a boy did to me once when 
I was at Sunday school," he explained. “He 
said my hair was as red as a forge fire." 

Sarah Dakota brushed and combed, braided 


128 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


and twisted, and yet, in spite of it all, could not 
get her refractory locks into the sleekness so 
much desired. 

She was rather uncertain, too, what dress to 
wear. There was not much time to spend in 
deliberation. “ I don’t want to wear the dress 
I wore yesterday — my garnet silk" — frowning 
at the remembrance of Juliet’s criticisms. “I 
sha’n’t wear that. I might put on my blue vel- 
vet. It’s new, and I’ve always liked it. I don’t 
believe that Juliet’s got anything richer or more 
expensive looking. I wonder what she’s going 
to wear to-day. She dressed and went down 
while I had Garde in the bathroom, so I didn’t 
see her. Well, I guess I’ll wear the blue vel- 
vet.’’ 

So she put it on, and also a broad-brimmed 
hat of white leghorn, with a pink plume and a 
cluster of apple blossoms. The hat had gotten 
a little mussed in the tray of her trunk, but 
there was no time to recurl the feather or pick 
out the crushed flower petals. Nor was there 
time to change her dusty shoes or button her 
lavender-tinted gloves. 

Flushed and perspiring she ran down stairs, 
where the family were assembled in the hall — 
both aunties in black grenadines, with white lace 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


129 


at throat and wrist, and with neat black bonnets 
on their prim, gray curls. 

Juliet was there, too, cool and serene, in a 
dainty brown and white summer silk, with a 
modest chip hat, trimmed with pale blue forget- 
me-nots. Every button on her long-wristed tan 
gloves was secure ; her new boots were shining 
and well fitting, and, in short, her toilet was 
complete even to the bunch of tiny white rose- 
buds tucked in her brown belt. 

Uncle Roscoe stood by her, looking quite 
pleased at the idea of escorting so pretty a girl 
to church. But his kindly face wore a puzzled 
expression as he turned it toward his niece 
from the West. The aunties looked bewildered 
and then almost terrified at Sarah Dakota’s at- 
tire. 

“My dear,” said Aunt Barbara, gently, 
“won’t you be too warm with that gown on? 
It seems— ahem— hardly suitable for church; 
that is, isn’t it quite warm, my dear? 

“ Not so very, ma’am. I’m sorry you don t 
think it’s suitable,” struggling with a desire to 
cry, for Juliet was giggling behind her fan. 
“It's good material, ma’am — real silk velvet. 

“So I see. It’s very elegant. But a plainer 
dress would do to-day. Our church is only in 
9 


130 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


a country place, and we feel that it is the best 
taste to dress simply. But, come, we must be 
going.’ ’ And the aunties sailed out, carrying 
their parasols and hymn books and wafting a 
pleasant odor of orris root from their garments. 
Uncle Roscoe and Juliet followed them, hold- 
ing Garde by the hand, while Guy and Sarah 
Dakota brought up the rear, the latter feeling 
very crestfallen. 

Guy saw it. He was kind-hearted at times, 
and he said sympathizingly : 

“Look here, now. Don’t mind what the 
aunties say about your clothes. They’re al- 
ways finding fault with mine. You see they’re 
unusually neat and particular. Aunt Katrinka 
could see dust on the church steeple. And 
I guess they don’t like bright colors unless it’s 
in flowers. They want folks to dress in browns, 
grays, and blacks, as though they- were Quak- 
ers or were going to a funeral. Now, I think 
your blue dress is real pretty.” 

Comforted by this boyish friendliness, Sarah 
Dakota followed her cousin into the church, 
which, by this time, they had reached. She 
forgot all thoughts of clothes or unkindly criti- 
cism in that first impression of the sanctuary. 
In after years she remembered it as one does a 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


131 


beautiful poem — the cool, sweet interior; the 
light from stained glass windows falling in long, 
slanting beams of crimson, amethyst, and am- 
ber, and brightening the solemn gloom. There 
was the pulpit, with its velvet drapery, and the 
marble font; and near by royal lilies, with 
golden hearts and silvery white petals, wafted 
their fragrance down the aisles. There was the 
subdued rustle of the waiting throng, drowned 
by the triumphal peal of the organ in a glorious 
anthem. 

The preacher, though only a country parson, 
was a good scholar and a fine orator. His 
words were well chosen and full of simple yet 
grand thoughts. Sarah Dakota listened eager- 
ly — almost breathlessly. She forgot her blue 
velvet dress; forgot the dingy boots and the 
missing buttons of her gloves. She thought of 
the words in the little red Bible. She thought, 
too, of her mother, and felt strangely, as 
though she must be near her. 

“I can almost imagine her spirit standing 
over there by those white lilies,” she said to 
herself, and her eyes were dewy with tears. She 
chanced to glance toward Juliet. The latter 
was giggling quietly behind her lace-trimmed 
handkerchief. 


132 SARAH DAKOTA. 

‘ ‘ What a silly you are ! ’ ’ she whispered to 
Sarah Dakota, “to let a country preacher so 
impress you. You are a fit subject for a genu- 
ine revival. I shall expect to see you up in the 
mourners’ bench next thing. I don’t see any- 
thing in what that man says to make anyone so 
tearful. ^-If it was the theater now — ‘East 
Lynne’ or some of those modern sensational 
French plays, why it’d be different; but just 
humdrum preaching — O, do stop sniffling!” 
impatiently. ‘ ‘ Everybody is looking this way ; 
and, besides, you’re dropping your tears down 
on your lavender kids and spotting them. 
What possessed you to wear them with a blue 
dress; it’s execrable taste, didn’t you know? 
The aunties nearly fainted when you came down 
stairs. Aunt Katrinka said that she was 
ashamed to have such a costume in the Van 
Dorn pew!” which last statement was a 
downright falsehood on Juliet’s part. 

Sarah Dakota quite forgot the number of the 
hymn the minister was just then giving out. 
Her eyes flashed amid the tears. Her face 
grew pale and her lips quivered. 

“Did Aunt Katrinka really say that?” she 
whispered in a low voice. 

Juliet nodded carelessly. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


133 


A quarter of an hour later, when Aunt Ka- 
trinka was gathering together the flock of girls 
composing her Sabbath school class, she looked 
around for Sarah Dakota. 

But she was not to be found. 

‘‘She said she was goin’ home,” little Garde 
explained. “ She was goin’ to walk all the 
way, an’ she didn’t have a speck of a parasol, 
an’ the sun’s awful hot. She gave me her ten- 
cent piece to put on the dejection plate. She 
said she didn’t care to stay any longer. Her 
dress didn’t suit folks and she’d go home, 
where she wouldn’t bother anybody. She looked 
as though she was goin’ to cry. I felt sorryful, 
I did,” and Garde’s face proved that he spoke 
the truth. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A Bareback Performance. 

THE organ was pealing forth in great wave 
* sounds as Sarah Dakota left the little gray 
church. The bell was ringing for Sunday 
school, which immediately followed the morn- 
ing service, and the children were flocking up 
the stone steps, their smiling faces and pretty 
dresses brightening the somber entrance. 

Sarah Dakota did not go down the broad 
main walk. She slipped around the western 
side of the church. There was a narrow foot- 
path there, worn chiefly by the sexton, whose 
house was in the rear. 

The path was very narrow. Tall grasses 
arched it over. It was cool and dank here. 
The shadow of the church lay across the yard. 
Tall elms and weeping willows shaded the 
graves. There was a mat of woodbine all along 
the way; it reached up its long arms and 
caught at the stone buttresses of the church. 
Its glossy leaves made a fine contrast to the 
light gray stones. Some of the leaves showed 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


135 


gleams of scarlet and wine color — bright scouts 
of the coming autumn. 

Most of the tombstones in the yard were very 
old. They were gray and mossgrown, and one 
could hardly read the inscriptions on them. 

“ How queer it would seem to see such an 
old tombstone out West,” thought Sarah Da- 
kota, and her mind reverted to the lonely cem- 
etery on the prairie. All unfenced that was, 
with not a tree or shrub to screen it from the 
burning glare of the sun. Cattle roamed 
around the graves ; Indians galloped over 
them; the coyote’s shrill bark was heard there 
at nightfall. There were no winding walks, no 
flowers save those which nature in pity planted. 
There were few tombstones, even. Most of the 
graves were unmarked. Occasionally one saw 
a rude board, bleached an ashen gray by storms 
and hot summer rays, at the head of one of the 
narrow mounds. 

Dreary, indeed, are the graveyards of the 
far West, where lie the heroes of unwritten his- 
tory — soldiers, settlers, pioneers, and patient 
women ! 

“It is pleasanter here,” said Sarah Dakota, 
as she passed along the quiet path. “ It’s quiet 
and peaceful. It doesn’t seem so awful to lie 


136 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


down here. There’s a girl’s grave yonder. She 
was only fourteen years old — just my age ! I 
wonder who she was, and what she did. Aure- 
lia her name was — Aurelia Bennett. Fourteen 
years old! I wonder if her mother was alive? 
It must have been hard to leave her ! ” 

She came to a little depression in the undu- 
lating ground. It was filled with clover blooms, 
and looked like the hollow of a pink bowl. Sa- 
rah Dakota sat down. The grasses, clover, and 
daisies bent around her like bowing courtiers in 
green and white and pink livery. The organ’s 
notes sounded louder now, and the fresh voices 
of Sabbath school scholars blended with them, 
and up in the elms overhead an oriole, in mad 
jealousy of the melodious sounds, added his 
clear ecstatic notes as from a “choir invisible ” 
above the silent graves. The sound of the 
children’s singing brought a wistful expression 
to the girl’s face. 

“ It seems as though they were real happy, ” 
she said. “ Somehow I wanted to stay to see 
what Sunday school was like. It was the same 
place my mother used to go to. Aunt Barbara 
said, and— and— well, I thought maybe she — 
my mother — would be pleased if I went. But” 
— her face darkened — “ I wasn’t going to stay 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


137 


there and have them make fun of my dress. 
Juliet would set them up to it, even if they 
wouldn’t think of it themselves. Then the 
aunties felt ashamed of me, I know! O, dear, 
I hate these prim Eastern ways ! I wish — yes, 
I really do ! — I wish I was back West, and 
pappy and I were alone at Rollingstone 
Ranch!” 

Sighing, she rose slowly, and brushed down 
her velvet skirts on which she had been scattering 
daisy petals, and then strolled along the path 
through the little gate at the rear and out into 
the turnpike road. 

The sun shone down hot here, and she walked 
briskly until she came within sight of the Van 
Dorn farm. 

A faint coil of blue smoke rising from the 
grove of trees on the right-hand side of the 
road caught her eyes. Somebody had built a 
fire there, and a black kettle was swung over 
the glowing coals. 4 ‘Indians!” was the little 
Westerner’s first thought. Then she saw a 
white-covered wagon, half hidden among the 
tree trunks, and a couple of fine, sleek horses 
cropping the grass near by. A woman in a 
crimson dress was cooking something over the 
fire, while another woman, sitting on the 


138 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


fallen trunk of a tree, was quietly nursing her 
baby. 

“ Why, they must be gypsies!” said Sarah • 
Dakota, eagerly. “I’ve read that they traveled 
that way with covered wagons. They don’t 
exactly look like Indians, and Aunt Barbara 
said there weren’t any around only the Onei- 
das, and they are civilized and go to church 
and sell baskets and behave themselves like 
decent people. Yes, I guess these folks must 
be gypsies. That young woman is real pretty. 

I wonder if they are fortune tellers? If I were 
sure that there weren’t any rough men around 
I would have a little talk with the gypsy 
women !” 

Like every true Westerner, there was a spicy 
love of adventure in Sarah Dakota. She was 
cautious, however. Her ideas of gypsies were 
very vague, but she somehow had the impres- 
sion that they did not move in the best circles 
of society and that their company was not alto- 
gether desirable. 

“I’ll go up to the house and change my 
dress — this blue velvet is frightfully hot, besides 
all its other faults — and then maybe I’ll stroll 
down there and have a chat with those gyp- 
sies,” she said, and so went up the path. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


139 


When just within the shadow of the house a 
slight noise caused her to peep over the thick 
buckthorn hedge. There she saw a sight that 
made her heart leap into her throat. 

Around the side of the house, where the tall 
evergreens made a perfect screen from the 
road, two men — swart, black browed, ragged, 
and rough looking — had climbed up by the 
pantry window. They had taken off one of the 
long green shutters, and were now evidently try- 
ing to pry open the window. 

Sarah Dakota had quick wits. 

“ They’re tryingto break in and steal!” she 
exclaimed to herself. “Thirzah Ann must 
have gone away. I heard her tell Aunt Ka- 
trinka, before we started for church, that she’d 
have to go if they sent for her from her sister 
who is sick down in the village. Aunt Ka- 
trinka told her to lock up carefully if she went, 
and I guess she did, for she seems a careful 
girl, but those hateful gypsies mean to get in 
in spite of her carefulness. I suppose they'll 
try to steal everything! There’s all the Van 
Dorn silverware — that funny squatty teapot and 
all. And Aunt Barbara left her watch right on 
her bureau. 0, dear, what shall Ido! I don’t 
know as I am afraid, exactly — but I don’t be- 


140 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


lieve it would stop those men one-bif if I were 
to shout at them or run up and 'tell them to go 
away. They look rough and ugly— as ugly as 
that horse thief pappy helped catch up near 
Medora, and which he had such a; hard time to 
get to jail before the cowboys could lynch him. 
I don't believe these gypsies ’d care for ,what I 
might say or do — I'm only a girl. If I could 
only run back and tell the aunties and Uncle 
Roscoe ! Sunday school must be nearly over 
by this time. But it ’d take so long to run 
back. 0, I know what I can do — yes, I 
will ! ’ ’ 

Bending low, so that no one could catch a 
glimpse of her, she scudded along in the 
shadow of the hedge, past the house and barn, 
out to the pasture where the horses were. 

“ The carriage horses, I suppose, are by the 
church gate, or else bringing the aunties home. 
Old Dobbin is lame — his foot is all tied up — 
and Jerry, the plow horse, is so stiff that he 
jolts awfully, so Uncle Roscoe said last night 
when I asked him about riding. I don’t see 
that there is anything for me to take only the 
colt,” said Sarah Dakota, as she paused by the 
bars. 

The colt was young, hardly broken, for he 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


141 


had been hitched up but once, and had not by 
any means covered himself with glory on that 
occasion. He was a fine spirited animal, how- 
ever, a perfect beauty, as he stood there, with his 
sleek chestnut sides glistening in the sunshine. 

He turned toward Sarah Dakota with an ex- 
pectant look in his clear intelligent eyes. She 
had petted him the evening before, and he 
seemed to remember it, and he stretched his 
neck forward as if thinking to receive a bit of 
cake or a tuft of clover. 

Sarah Dakota had nothing to tempt him 
with now but the clover. She reached down 
and picked some, white, sweet, and fragrant, by 
the side of the fence. With this in one hand, 
and the bridle, which she had stealthily pro- 
cured in the barn, in the other, she approached 
him, speaking his name in low, gentle tones. 

He darted playfully away from her at first, 
but after a little she succeeded in catching hold 
of his long, curly mane, and while he was be- 
guiled by the clover she put on the bridle and 
fastened it, then led him to the side of the stone 
wall. 

Her eyes shone and her cheeks were flushed 
at the thought of the risk she ran in trying to 
mount him. 


142 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ If I only had the saddle it wouldn’t be 
so bad ; or, if I dared ride him the way the 
squaws out West do ; but that might give the 
aunties a cotton-flannel fit if they were to see 
me mounted so. But dear me! what am I 
afraid of ? I’ve ridden bareback many a time 
home, and the Indian ponies are such treacher- 
ous creatures. I rode pappy’s ‘ Colonel ' once 
— with a saddle, though — and he ‘ bucked ’ 
awfully. It jarred me so that my nose bled, 
but I stuck on. 0, I guess I can manage this 
fellow. There, Ned; there” — patting the 
prancing colt. 

With a steady hand she drew him nearer the 
stone wall on which she wished to stand, and, 
seizing her chance when he was still for an in- 
stant, she sprang upon his back. 

He uttered a snort of disapproval, tossed his 
mane impatiently, and made several abrupt 
curves, then sped like an arrow through the 
gateway and down toward the turnpike road. 
As much as possible she guided him over the 
grass, so that the sound of his hoofs should be 
deadened. 

After his first few plunges she had no diffi- 
culty in keeping her seat. She found him a 
superb saddle horse, rising and falling in long, 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


143 


steady, even paces. He shied at everything, 
however — a pile of hay, a wheelbarrow, a yel- 
low dog, a damp, dark spot on the ground, 
and even at his own moving shadow. But 
Sarah Dakota was used to such tricks, and she 
sat firmly yet freely, almost enjoying her mad 
gallop. 

Hens scuttled out of the way, pigs ran 
squealing, ducks quacked and waddled, and 
the few Sunday school children she met stared, 
stopped, and made excited comments. 

“ I suppose I do look funny,” said Sarah 
Dakota to herself; and she added with grim 
humor, as her short, blue velvet skirts waved in 
the breeze, “ If my dress looked odd to folks 
in the morning, what must it be now ? Worse 
than Mrs. Tulette's out West — she used to ride 
in a Mother Hubbard wrapper. There, the 
feather in my hat is coming loose, I know. I 
can feel it dangling on my neck. Dear me ! I 
guess I must be a spectacle — a whole band 
wagon, small boys behind, and little dog under 
the wheels. But never mind. Think of those 
dreadful gypsies stealing the silver. Hurry, 
Ned.” 

Ned was hurrying. It was a great lark for 
him, as Guy would have said. Much pleasanter 


144 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


than lounging around a prosy pasture. It was 
a long time since he had been allowed the 
privilege of a dash down the road. It was 
very exhilarating, to be sure — and then there 
were so many things to shy at — and Ned 
seemed really to enjoy these little, short-lived 
spasms of alarm. 

“ Goody, there are the aunties/' Sarah 
Dakota suddenly exclaimed, drawing the colt 
up suddenly in the middle of the road. She 
had come in sight of two carriages. One was 
a buggy containing Deacon Gregg and the 
young minister, whom he was taking home to 
dinner. The other was the Van Dorn car- 
riage. 

“What strange object is that?” exclaimed 
the deacon, reining up his old white mare and 
peering through his silver-bowed spectacles. 
“It must be some circus performance — and 
on Sunday, too. Scandalous!” 

“ It seems to be only a girl on horseback,” 
observed the minister, mildly. “ She seems 
to want to attract our attention — at least she is 
beckoning to us.” 

“It's our Sarah Dakota,” called Guy, ex- 
citedly, out from the other wagon. 

“Impossible! It doesn't look like her. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


145 


Isn’t it a blue balloon?" said Aunt Barbara, 
straining her nearsighted eyes. 

“It is Sarah Dakota," said Aunt Katrinka, 
grimly. “I hoped that since she left us so 
unceremoniously after church she would have 
at least walked home in a decent and circum- 
spect manner. I didn’t suppose that she 
would go tearing around the country on horse- 
back. And — merciful sakes ! she’s on the 
colt — our colt, Roscoe ! — that wild young 
Ned!" 

“ That’s so. I didn’t suppose -that we were 
raising Ned for this," murmured Uncle Roscoe, 
comforting himself in his anxiety by this feeble 
pun. “ She seems to be managing him pretty 
well, though the sight of that pile of stones 
makes him prance around as though he was 
walking on eggs." 

“ But the colt, Roscoe! Think of it. Why, 
she'll be killed, surely. She must be crazy." 

“Crazy — or else the house is afire, and she 
has hurried to tell us," said her brother, ear- 
nestly, and then he called out in a louder tone : 

“Whip up your old mare, Deacon Gregg, or 
else turn off a little and let us get by — we’re in 
a hurry to get home." 

“All right," said the deacon, and the mare’s 
10 


146 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


nose was turned to the left while the Van Dorn 
carriage whirled by, and the minister's friendly 
voice said, “ If there’s anything in which you 
need our help pray command us." 

“I say, Uncle Roscoe," Sarah Dakota 
called out, excitedly, “ hurry as fast as you 
can. There are some men breaking into the 
house. They are — are fortune tellers, and that 
funny old teapot Aunt Barbara thinks so much 
of '11 be stolen! It’s the pantry window ! I 
got home just in time ! They’ve got a shutter 
off! Do hurry!" 

Considerably mystified by her half incoher- 
ent utterances, yet convinced that his presence 
was needed at home, Uncle Roscoe whipped 
up his spirited team and, followed by the old 
white mare of the deacon, soon reached the 
Van Dorn farm. 

Sarah Dakota rode beside the carriages, fully 
occupied in making more lucid explanations 
and in managing her prancing steed. The 
aunties stared at her, torn by mingled emotions 
of disapproval of her disheveled locks and dis- 
arranged attire, and admiration of her fine 
equestrianism. 

“That girl’s got grit," remarked Deacon 
Gregg. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


147 


“She has a striking face,” said the minister. 
“Does she belong to the Van Dorns? I ob- 
served her in their pew at church to-day. But 
I didn’t see her at Sunday school, however.” 

Somewhat to her chagrin, when they reached 
the farmhouse they found it deserted. The 
shutter of the pantry window, however, lay on 
the ground, showing that the would-be house- 
breakers had suddenly left. Down in the 
grove, too, there were traces of recent visitors. 
The fire still smoldered amid the gray ashes, 
and near it lay some crusts, half-picked 
bones, and the rind of a large melon, which 
Deacon Gregg ruefully said had that morning 
reposed in his own melon patch. 

But the gypsies had fled. There was little 
use in pursuing them, as they had done no pos- 
itive damage on the premises, and, moreover, 
Sarah Dakota was not positive that she could 
identify them. 

“They were lean and dark and looked some- 
thing like Indians,” was all she could say in de- 
scribing them. “I guess, after all, they must 
have caught a glimpse of me as I hurried down 
the road. I tried to lie low on Ned’s back, so 
they wouldn’t see me, but perhaps they did and 
were frightened and ran away.” 


148 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“You were enough to frighten anybody/ ’ 
Juliet sneeringly remarked, as she languidly 
fanned herself. “Your hair looked like a 
maniac’s. And as for your dress — mercy! 
you’ll never be able to get the dust out of that 
velvet.” 

“I’ll get her a new dress,” said Uncle Ros- 
coe, as he patted the two chestnut manes — his 
niece’s and Ned’s. “She deserves one. Those 
gypsies might have made off with something 
besides that squatty old teapot. I had five 
hundred dollars in a wallet in my desk. It was 
very careless of me to leave it there, but a man 
paid the debt yesterday and I didn’t go to 
town, and the banks were closed in the after- 
noon, anyway. Sarah Dakota has saved me 
that. You were very brave, my dear.” 

“That’s so!” exclaimed Guy, and then, 
speaking with more animation than was his wont, 
he drew near his cousin: “ I say that was just 
splendid of you ! I never cared much for riding 
in a nimble-namble, slow way, but you went 
like a streak! You’re a regular Di Vernon!” 

“Is she the girl that came for pie plant this 
morning?” Sarah Dakota innocently inquired, 
recalling the visit of a farmer’s daughter, who 
had come to the place on horseback. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


149 


Guy laughed explosively. 

“Guess you never read Scott’s novels, did 
you?” 

“No!” frankly. “Never heard of any 
Scott only General Winfield. Pappy's got a 
book about his life and battles. No, I never 
read much anyway ; but ’ ' — -with a little toss of 
her head — * ‘ but I can ride ! I can ! ’ ' 


CHAPTER X. 


AT MADAME PINKERAY’S 

TULIET was up in the “ Old Hen,” sitting by 
^ the window. She had on a white muslin dress 
and a pale blue belt, and there was a rose in 
her hair. She looked cool and pretty as she 
sat there with her white fingers darting in and 
out among the meshes of lavender silk she was 
crocheting. 

Sarah Dakota was on the other side of the 
window. A tall, sweeping elm had a thick, 
arching limb right by the ledge. It was an 
easy thing for one steady nerved and agile to 
step out and swing into the broad crotch. 

Sarah Dakota did it almost every day. It 
was so pleasant to sit up there with the cool 
breezes fluttering about one's cheeks and the 
birds twittering up among the boughs. Then, 
with a little tilt, one could make the limb go 
like an easy rocking-chair. 

The aunties would have been shocked had 
they known of this airy perch, but Sarah Da- 
kota did not tell them. I am sorry to say that 
since her wild ride with the colt, and the praise 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


151 


received for her courage on that occasion, she 
had rather gloried in risky exploits. She had 
ridden Ned again — many times — but with a 
saddle, and had taught him to obey her will, 
even to leaping over the barnyard bars, at which 
feat Uncle Roscoe looked askance and the 
aunties screamed and, shuddering, hid their 
faces. 

Sarah Dakota went fishing and boating. She 
fired off the old horse pistol that some Revolu- 
tionary ancestor had used at the battle of Oris- 
kany, and it is to be hoped that it did not kick as 
badly on the earlier occasion. 

Sarah Dakota taught Guy to do many strange 
and unheard of gymnastic ‘feats, and her enthu- 
siasm was so infectious that Thirzah Ann, the 
hired girl, exclaimed : 

* 4 Well, if that ain't a beater! I never 
thought that 'ere Guy could move around so 
lively! That Sary Dakoty’s stirred him up 
more'n I ever seen afore ! There he was a-set- 
tin' with his nose in a book, an' now he tears 
around like all possessed. Eats as much again 
as he used to, an’ I hain't heard him fret about 
the coffee’s not bein’ strong enough. She’s 
ben more of a tonic than Cape's Sarsaparilly ! 
It does beat all ! ” 


152 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Guy had never climbed out of the window 
into the big elm, however. Sarah Dakota had 
never urged him to. She had preferred to con- 
sider that her own private eyrie. 

She looked very comfortable as she sat there 
now — and pretty, too, with her bright hair curl- 
ing in damp, little rings around her white fore- 
head and flushed cheeks, and with her shining 
eyes uplifted, as with chin in the palm of her 
hand she listened to the trills of a meadow lark 
far down in the green expanse of the fields 
below. 

“I say, little Indian!” Juliet suddenly called 
out. 

Sarah Dakota had gotten used to this title, 
so she answered calmly: 

“Well, what is it, my lady?” 

* ‘ Do you know what is going to happen next 
week?” 

“Why, we’re going to Trenton Falls, aren’t 
we? Guy says it’s delightfully wild and ro- 
mantic there. The West Canada Creek comes 
pouring and tumbling over the rocks at a great 
rate.” 

“0, we’ll go there Saturday, I suppose; but 
the week days will be taken up with something 
else,” Juliet mysteriously rejoined. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


153 


And leaning her white, rounded arms far out 
on the window sill, she added impressively: 

‘ * We’re to be sent to prison ! ’ ’ 

“What! To prison?” And Sarah Dako- 
ta’s hazel eyes were opened wide. 

“Well, it’s all the same — to school, I mean! 
Yes, on Monday next you and I are to be sent 
to Madame Pinkeray’s Select School for Young 
Ladies, Bonnybrook Hall.” 

“What! That place up the Steuben turn- 
pike road ? That big house with rows of yellow 
pillars in front like sticks of cream candy?” 
Sarah Dakota inquired, ceasing for a time her 
sleepy swinging on the limb of the big elm. 

“That’s the place. Looks like a prison, 
doesn't it, with all that tall iron fence around 
it? It used to be a fine old mansion, I’ve 
heard, before Madame Pinkeray bought it. 
They say she’s very strict !” — and Juliet gave a 
groan. “I wouldn't mind so much if it were 
like Madame Ezibodi’s, where I've been going. 
There we had perfectly lovely times. Only 
used to study the answers to the questions 
likely to come to us, and let the rest go. Most 
of the teachers used to ask the questions one 
after the other, and as we always sat in the same 
places we knew just what answers to learn. See ? 


154 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


It was a real cute way, I think. Maude Haskell 
used to write dates on her cuffs. We whispered 
all we wanted to there, and even when we gig- 
gled almost aloud nobody glared at us. But 
the teachers were very particular about our 
dress and manners. Madame made it a rule 
that she wouldn’t take anybody whose father 
wasn’t wealthy enough to have his daughter 
dress in the latest style. She called her school 
‘Female Seminary,’ and we had ‘ F. S.’ in a 
lovely silver and blue monogram on our compo- 
sition paper and our envelopes. Cousin Ray- 
mond — he’s mamma’s brother’s boy and a 
wretched tease — said that ‘F. ,S.’ stood for 
‘Fashionable Swindle!’ ” 

“Maybe he was right,” said Sarah Dakota, 
solemnly, though her eyes twinkled. “At any 
rate, I don’t think I’d like to go to that 
school.” 

“Don’t believe you would — the girls ’d guy 
you awfully. They always do anybody who 
isn’t dressed just so.” 

“I wonder how they’ll be at this school — 
Madame, what do you call her? — Pinkeray’s — 
the cream candy-stick house?” said Sarah Da- 
kota, thoughtfully. 

“ 0, they’ll make fun, too. For, you know, 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


155 


you are odd, little Indian ! To be sure, some 
of the country girls around here go, but they’re 
only day scholars. Madame Pinkerayhas some 
city girls. It's a boarding school, you know, 
and they are quite stylish. I’ve seen some of 
them out walking and at church.” 

‘‘0, I can stand teasing about my dress, 
though I don’t believe any of them’ll be as mean 
about it as you have been,” said the little West- 
erner with sturdy candor. “ It isn't that kind 
of teasing I’m afraid of. But, you see, I'm no 
scholar. I never studied anything that amounted 
to much in all my life. I can read, of course, 
and Uncle Roscoe complimented me the other 
day on my writing. He says that I have a 
good, plain hand that everybody can read. He 
says he doesn't admire that slanting ‘picket- 
fence kind ’ of writing that young ladies are 
taught nowadays. Pappy taught me arithmetic ; 
I liked that. But as for grammar, he always 
laughed and said he didn’t know anything 
about that — folks had no use for grammar out 
on the prairies. Folks there said what they 
meant and said it quick, and didn’t stop to con- 
sider whether they had lassoed the right verb to 
the right noun or not. To tell the truth, 
Jule,” confidentially, “I don’t know a verb 


156 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


from a noun any more than if I were a 
gopher ! * * 

“0, I've learned all those things/* said 
Juliet, in an important tone, “but I forget them. 
I forget history, too, and the fact is, all I re- 
member about Queen Elizabeth is that she had 
three thousand dresses, and that Catherine de 
Medici — I guess it was she — killed some other 
queen by giving her a pair of poisoned gloves.* * 

“Did she really?** And Sarah Dakota’s 
eyes grew wide with horror. “I didn’t know 
queens did such things. History must be real 
exciting to read.” 

“ Some of it is,” rejoined Juliet; “but the 
most of it is stupid and dry, all about laws and 
pioneers and government and Washington’s 
soldiers having no shoes or stockings at Valley 
Forge. If you want to read something ex- 
citing, you ought to see the novels I have read. 
Madame Ezibodi used to pretend that she 
didn’t approve of them— they ‘ were too stimu- 
lating to a young, immature mind,’ she used to 
say ; but, pshaw ! some tff her best teachers read 
them — had them slipped in the drawer of their 
class room table. We girls used to steal them 
out sometimes and then slip them back before 
the teachers missed them.” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


157 


' ‘ I don’t think it was very nice of either you 
or the teachers,” was Sarah Dakota’s frank 
comment. 

“ Madame Pinkeray won’t allow flashy novels 
in her establishment — I’m sure of that,” Juliet 
continued, moodily. “Everything’ll be stiff 
and prim, and we won’t hardly dare breathe for 
fear of breaking the rules. I don’t see why 
Uncle Roscoe and the aunties want to send 
us there; because it’s convenient, I suppose. 
Besides, it’s just the place that suits them.” 

“ My father wants me to go to school.” 

“So does mine. He’s dreadfully old-fash- 
ioned — all the Van Dorns are, it seems. He 
didn’t like it at Madame Ezibodi’s one bit. He 
said it was all sham and veneer and rotten 
wood underneath. Madame Pinkeray is just his 
ideal.” 

“Are we to board there?” 

“ During the week. Uncle Roscoe or Guy’ll 
come for us every Friday. I don’t know, 
though, but what I’d just as soon stay at the 
seminary as at this pokey old farm, where one 
doesn’t see anything go by but deacons and tin 
peddlers' wagons.” 

“Why, I think the farm’s just lovely. I 
only hope that I’ll like the seminary half as 


158 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


well. I dread going to school, though. I 
wouldn’t go if it wasn’t that pappy wanted me 
to.” 

Juliet laughed in a disagreeable way and then 
said: “You’ll have to stop calling your father 
by that queer, old-fashioned name. Pappy! 0, 
pappy!” in a mocking tone. 

Her cousin colored. “Maybe it is queer 
and old-fashioned,” she said; “but I’ve got 
used to it. I learned to say it when I was a 
baby, and he — my father — always seemed to 
like to hear me say it.” 

“Well, you’ll have to stop it if you don’t 
want the seminary girls to laugh at you.” 

“ I suppose they’ll laugh at a good many 
things,” defiantly. 

Sarah Dakota had imagined Madame Pink- 
eray to be a person somewhat like Aunt Ka- 
trinka — a tall, stately lady, very self-possessed, 
and of commanding presence, with keen, pierc- 
ing eyes and rather a grim mouth. But, on 
the following Monday, as she sat in her seat in 
the long schoolroom, she was forced to confess 
that she had been mistaken. 

Madame Pinkeray was short and slender, 
though erect and graceful. She had soft, 
brown eyes, with clear, winning glances. There 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


159 


was something about her that won love and re- 
spect. She was a refined gentlewoman, a 
scholar, and a Christian. One could not fail to 
observe and admire her directness of speech 
and earnestness of purpose. She was a teacher 
who gloried in holding an ideal pure and lofty 
before the eyes of her pupils. 

The schoolroom was pleasant and homelike 
and quite divested of primness or dreary plain- 
ness. The windows were large; boxes of 
blooming plants were on their broad sills. 
There were pictures on the walls, and brackets 
containing statuettes and vases of flowers. 
There were plenty of books everywhere, and the 
entire room, with its oaken floor brightened by 
warm -tinted rugs, was cozy and comfortable. 

After a survey of the apartment Sarah Da- 
kota turned to look at her companions. There 
were about forty girls. Twenty of them were 
boarders from out of town, and the little West- 
erner was more especially interested in them, 
for with most of the others she had become ac 
quainted during her brief sojourn at the farm, 
meeting them at church and social gatherings 
and among some of the neighboring families. 
There was a girl on the other side of the aisle 
— very fat she was, with dull, sleepy eyes, and 


160 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


a pasty complexion — who was surreptitiously 
nibbling peanut candy behind the covers of her 
geography. She offered some to Sarah Dakota, 
who, remembering her experience with Juliet on 
the cars, did not wish to offend by refusing it; 
nor did she care to break the rules on this her 
first day at school. So she took the brown, 
sticky lump, with the peanuts in it like little 
bones, and smuggled it in her desk on a bit 
of blotting paper. 

Some of the girls were pretty and some 
of them plain, while all were well dressed. 
Sarah Dakota looked complacently at her 
own neat, white flannel blouse and navy blue 
skirt. 

“ Some of them have got on dresses made 
just this way, so I guess I look all right, and I 
don’t believe they’ll laugh at me. I hope I’ll 
get along as well in my lessons — but, dear me ! 
what a dunce I am ! I don’t know anything 
about books. Listen to that girl in the Grecian 
History class — she’s telling all about Epami- 
nondas. I never heard of him before, nor 
about the Thebans. And a little while ago I 
heard a teacher tell a girl, who must be at least 
a year younger than I am, that she must hand 
in ‘ six examples of metaphor and six similes ’ 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


161 


when she came to the rhetoric class. What 
under the sun is a metaphor anyway, or a 
simile? It might be flesh or fowl, for all I 
know, or a grammar, or a lead pencil. 0, dear ! 
I know that I'll be laughed at!” 

And I am sorry to say that she was. Whether 
or not Juliet had officiously spread abroad the 
fact that her cousin had never been inside a 
schoolroom before, but had grown up all un- 
trained on a wild Western ranch, I cannot say. 
But it was easy to see that the attention of the 
whole school was riveted on Sarah Dakota when 
she went to her recitations. She had an ab- 
rupt, unconventional manner; she showed an 
eager attention quite uncommon in most girls ; 
she had a funny way of asking questions of the 
teacher or making original comments. 

The teachers were puzzled and amused ; the 
pupils electrified into unlawful hilarity. 

In some things the little Westerner was as 
ignorant as a child; in others, far advanced of 
those of her age. She knew absolutely nothing 
of literature, history, or the rules of grammar ; 
but, thanks to her father, she was well drilled 
in mathematics. 

She read in a loud, sing-song voice, and her 
old-fashioned pronunciation often made a titter 
11 


162 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


run around the schoolroom — a titter in which 
Juliet joined loudest of all. 

No one knew what was going on in Sarah 
Dakota’s mind during these first, trying days. 
She bravely kept her struggles to herself. 

“I’d give up if it wasn’t that pappy’d feel 
sorry,” she said to herself many a time as she 
sat in the little grape arbor on the seminary 
lawn — a place to which she often stole alone, 
taking only her books with her and wrestling 
with them there. “Pappy — I mean my 
father” — correcting herself as she thought of 
Juliet’s admonition — “my father’d be so disap- 
pointed if I gave up school, and I dare say my 
stepmother’ d sneer and say she ‘expected it.’ 
Then, anyhow, I want an education. There 
are so many beautiful things in this world and 
so many wonderful ones — 0, I like to study, 
and perhaps after I get used to words and 
ways I won’t seem so queer to people. I'm 
sure, if I try, that I can learn — 0, I am 
sure ! ’ ’ 

And indeed Sarah Dakota had those attri- 
butes of a true scholar — ardor, earnestness, 
and the power of concentration. The world of 
books was a new, wide, beautiful world to her. 
She longed to ramble in it and gather treasures 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


163 


from the thoughts and deeds of those who had 
lived in the long gone centuries. And, as time 
passed on, her teachers, though they sometimes 
smiled or looked shocked at her abruptness and 
her blunders j began to nod their heads approv- 
ingly and say : 

‘ ‘ Certainly our little Dakota has a fine intel- 
lect, and she seems desirous of improving it.” 

When the monthly composition day drew 
near Sarah Dakota was confronted by trial and 
perplexity. She, like the rest, was expected 
to hand in a composition. What and how 
should she write eight hundred words about 
something? Neat writing and careful punctu- 
ation were required. 

“Dear me!” she exclaimed to herself. 
“The other girls have such splendid subjects. 
Mamie Lee has ‘Truth and Falsehood;' Susie 
Lane, ‘Edmund Spenser;’ Sophie March, ‘The 
Grandeur of Eloquence;' and Josie Maynard 
has ‘ Comparison between Themistocles and 
Aristides ' — that must be awfully hard. I 
haven’t the least idea who the men were, or 
whether they were monks or monkeys. 

“Juliet has a nice subject,” Sarah Dakota 
continued . “ It' s on ‘Adversity and Prosperity. ' 
She has copied the most of it from Aunt Ka- 


164 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


trinka’s magazine, The Ladies Treasure Trove ; 
but I won't tell — because, perhaps, it’d be 
mean. I can’t see, though, how she’d want to 
make folks believe she’d written what she 
hadn’t. 

‘ ‘ Miss Beach said we might write about any 
subject we chose; but, dear me ! I’m so home- 
sick this afternoon that I really can’t select any. 
I keep thinking of home and my beautiful prai- 
ries. 0, how pleasant they look in the early 
morning! I can imagine them now.” 

Suddenly the thought came to her — why not 
choose them, those Western prairies, for her 
composition? Surely she could describe them, 
for her heart was in the task. And, as Madame 
Pinkeray said the other day, “When the heart’s 
all right the head does well.” 

And so, sitting in the little grape arbor, with 
the green vines all around her and the sunshine 
coming in little, golden checks through the 
lattice work, with the bird notes in the trees 
overhead mingling with girlish laughter from the 
croquet and tennis grounds, Sarah Dakota be- 
gan her composition. 

In simple yet bold and striking language she 
told of how the prairies looked when the morn- 
ing sun bound them with bands of pink and 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


165 


pearl ; of the soft evening flushes of amethyst 
and purple, and the night shadows of ebon and 
brown and deep gray. She told of the starlight 
overhead and the glory of the strong, white 

moonbeams. She pictured the flowers the 

flaming crimson of the cactus set in the soft 
gray of the curly buffalo grass, and the rose- 
blooms that made the June mornings so sweet. 
She described the Big Muddy, with its swollen, 
yellow current and treacherous quicksands, and 
the Rollingstone that .looked so like a winding, 
wooded, Eastern creek. She told of the laby- 
rinth of Western roads, dark earthed and hard 
beaten ; of the solitary bowlders, in the hollows 
of which the rattlesnake was wont to sun his 
shining coils. She wrote of the winds sweep- 
ing over the prairies, bending the grasses as 
with a gentle hand or coming in the great gusts 
of the blizzard and wild destruction of the 
cyclone. 

She did her best to put in her work all the 
freshness, simplicity, beauty, and grandeur of 
her beloved West. She forgot herself in think- 
ing of her subject. And when she stood up to 
read her essay the scholars forgot her, too — 
forgot her awkwardness and oddities, forgot 
her slips in pronunciation. They listened 


166 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


eagerly to the fresh, young voice reading so 
earnestly. Even Juliet forgot to sneer, and 
when Sarah Dakota walked modestly back to 
her seat Madame Pinkeray's brown eyes had a 
pleased look in them, and she turned to her 
head teacher, saying in a tone of satisfaction : 
“You and I were right, Miss Beach. Our 
little Territory will be a credit to this, our 
school Union.' * 


CHAPTER XI. 


“THOSE GIRLS.” 

CYNECDOCHE’— a figure or trope by 

^ which the whole of a thing is put for a 
part, or a part for the whole, or a sign for the 
thing signified. ‘The kettle boils' — meaning 
the water in the kettle is boiling. ‘They have 
Moses and the prophets ’ — meaning the works of 
Moses and the prophets. ‘ Antithesis is that 
figure — ' ” But Sarah Dakota did not finish her 
definition. Her mind was wandering far from 
the lesson. She slapped shut the covers of her 
rhetoric and tossed the book to the farther end 
of her study table. She scratched her nose re- 
flectively, and her eyebrows were contracted into 
an unbecoming frown. 

“I declare! I can’t think about anything 
lately only Jule!” she exclaimed. “What 
makes her act so? I do wish she hadn’t gotten 
in with those girls.” 

“Those girls” meant a certain clique at 
Madame Pinkeray’s. One finds the kind at 
almost any boarding school, no matter how well 
conducted. Girls who are idle and careless, 


168 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


selfish, thoughtless, and giddy, and yet who 
have considerable influence because of their 
gayety, good nature, generosity, and fine 
clothes. At Madame Pinkeray's there was Eu- 
lalie Robbins, the wealthy pork packer’s only 
child, a lively, black-eyed miss, whose only 
talent was that of getting into mischief. There 
was Susie Harper, who had a parrotlike fash- 
ion of learning her lessons and forgetting them 
as soon as she left the class. “If I glide 
through for the day and get a good mark, 
that’s all I care about,” she would say flip- 
pantly. “ I don’t intend to take my education 
home in a trunk or a shawl strap. All I care 
about is to pass recitations and examinations. 
What’s the use in remembering things for al- 
ways? I can’t do it. My head’s a perfect 
sieve.” There was Nellie Adams, a fair-haired 
little blonde, with round, innocent blue eyes, 
rosebud mouth, and babyish ways. Nellie had 
many admirers among the scholars, though her 
indolence was a standing joke. 

These three girls, each in her own way, were 
at the bottom of most of the mischievous pranks 
played in the school. Eulalie, with her lavish 
generosity and love of a good time; Susie, 
with her quickness and gayety; and Nellie, 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


169 


with her artful, wheedling ways and lazy ex- 
ample, were the originators of many an esca- 
pade. They were a jolly trio, and now the trio 
had become a quartet, for Juliet Van Dorn had 
joined them. From the first day spent at Bon- 
nybrook Hall, as Madame Pinkeray’s estab- 
lishment was called, she had gravitated toward 
the giddy set, instead of striving to become in- 
timate with the quiet, studious, pleasant girls 
who composed the majority of the pupils. 

Sarah Dakota had been inclined to follow 
her example. There was something very fas- 
cinating about the lively, pretty, well-dressed 
girls. But we must confess that they snubbed 
her and teased her unmercifully. When, a 
little later, learning that she, with her brightness 
and originality, was capable of becoming a jolly 
aid in their roguish schemes, they would have 
admitted her to their company, she coolly ignored 
their overtures. She could afford to reject them 
now, for she had become more accustomed to 
the ways of the school and more interested and 
occupied with her books. Besides, she was 
too proud to receive any favors from those who 
had made those first, trying days so very un- 
comfortable. As she said herself, with a flash 
of her eyes : 




1 70 SARAH DAKOTA. 

“I’ve lived out among the Indians so long 
that I'm something like them, I’m afraid. 
There was Lone Horse, down at the Reserva- 
tion, whom Major Marquette was telling us 
about. Lone Horse prided himself on being 
civilized and a Christian, and somebody told 
him that he mustn’t be angry at his enemies ; 
he ‘must forgive and forget.’ ‘Yes,’ says 
Lone Horse, ‘that all right. Forgive and for- 
get — but remember all the time!’ And that’s 
the way with me. When Susie Harper is so 
friendly and Nellie Adams comes pussying 
around, I just think how they used to giggle 
and nudge one another and mock at me for my 
blunders. They’ve been different to me, 
though, since they learned that my father was 
a ‘cattle king.’ It was Guy who told them 
that, the Saturday they spent at Van Dorn farm. 
He told me he wanted to let them know that I 
was somebody after all. Guy is good-hearted, 
if he does think so much of his stomach and 
lounging around with his nose in a book. O, I 
guess he put on the flourishes about pappy,” 
laughing to herself. “He said he told them 
pappy owned a mine, too — didn’t say it was 
only that smoky, black, lignite coal, though. I 
suppose he represented our ranch as a veritable 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


171 


mansion, and pappy was equal to Lot and 
Abraham combined in owning flocks and herds. 
Well, the girls were quite impressed by my 
being the daughter of a ‘cattle kin g.’ How 
pappy — father, I mean — would laugh! Any- 
way, the girls are disposed to be friendly now, 
but I don’t care for it one bit. Somehow” — 
gravely — “I don’t think they’re the kind my 
mother’d like to have me go with — if she were 
living, I mean. Some of those other girls, 
though — Augusta Hare, Clara Schooley, Libbie 
Van Dusen, and Essie Hendricks — I’d like to 
be intimate with; but I’m a little afraid to try. 
They’re always so steady, and never get into 
mischief. I think they’re church members. 
They’re kind and polite to me. Aunt Katrinka 
says they’re perfect ladies. I'm not like them, 
I know. I suppose they sort of look down on 
me. I feel almost as shy and awkward with 
them as I do with Madame Pinkeray. 0, dear ! 
I don’t seem to fit in anywheres.” And Sarah 
Dakota nervously tapped the table with the 
ivory paper cutter. Then she continued, with 
the anxious look on her face : 

“As for Juliet, I must say I am worried 
about her. She isn’t doing right, but she won’t 
heed anything I say to her. She copies her 


172 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


French exercises from Augusta Hare’s; steals 
Augusta’s book out of her desk. As for her 
Latin, she has a book with an English transla- 
tion — she calls it a ‘pony.’ She’s awfully sly 
about it, and keeps it in her desk trunk. She 
reads ‘Ouida’s’ novels in study hour, and Eu- 
gene Sue’s. It’s awfully mean. If I say a 
word she sneers or scolds and says, ‘ 0, go and 
tell, little Indian. I’ve heard that Indians are 
always treacherous. Curry favor with the 
teachers by keeping them posted on my affairs, 
and maybe they’ll be more likely to overlook 
your blunders. O, it’s nice to be a telltale ! ’ As 
if I'd be a thing like that ! She knows I won't 
tell. But I do worry, for I know the aunties 'd 
feel so sorry. They think so much of Juliet.” 
And Sarah Dakota could not help giving a little 
sigh as she thought of what a universal favorite 
her pretty, graceful cousin was at the Van Dorn 
farm. 

“There! I’m getting spiteful and jealous 
myself, and that is worse than being silly and 
rattle-pated. Ugh! I believe a run out in the 
fresh air will clear the cobwebs from my brain. 
Now, I wonder whether that is a simile or a 
metaphor. Maybe it’s that syn — synecdoche I 
studied to-day. No, it doesn’t seem to be. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


173 


But, there ! I won’t bother about rhetoric now. 
I’ll go out and take a stroll. Where’s my hat? 
0, Juliet must have taken it when she went 
downtown with Miss Sargent, the Latin teach- 
er. Juliet likes to wear that sun hat of mine. 
She thinks the white lilacs on it are so pretty. 
It’s about the only thing of mine she ever ad- 
mired. Well, I’d just as soon she’d wear it. I 
can put on her brown one, though I’ve learned 
to know that pink ribbon doesn’t go very well 
with my tawny locks.” 

Hastily donning the hat Sarah Dakota left 
the house and strolled down one of the broad 
avenues leading from Bonnybrook Hall. 

It was a perfect afternoon, the latter part of 
September. The early frost had touched the 
trees, and the sweeping elms made a golden 
arch over the avenue. The woodbine in all the 
angles and over the window ledges looked like 
spilled wine or scattered rubies. The maples 
swaying in the breeze flickered like scarlet 
flames. 

The great, cream-colored house lay silent 
in the sunshine and the shadow. The wind 
swelled out the gay red and white striped 
awnings over the porches, and the white 
muslin curtains at the windows floated back- 


174 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


ward and forth like the robes of stately dan- 
cers. 

It was Saturday afternoon. The day schol- 
ars were away of course, and the boarders were 
in their rooms chatting, reading, or doing fancy 
work. The teachers were resting or visiting. 
There was no one on the broad, green lawn ex- 
cept two or three girls by the tennis ground, 
playing rather lazily with their racquets. There 
was a glimmer of rose tints near the big, state- 
ly hemlock. 

Essie Hendricks was lying there in the ham- 
mock, the tips of her little, bronze slippers 
peeping out from the folds of a pink gown. 
Sarah Dakota walked rather rapidly as she went 
by the big hemlock. She had taken a fancy to 
Essie, but like most shy persons she strove to 
disguise the fancy by seeming brusqueness. 

Essie was older than she — wiser and better, 
she knew. She was, in fact, the star scholar 
-of Bonnybrook Hall. 

She was a tall, slender girl, with a small, 
dark, thoughtful face, red-lipped, and with dark 
eyes that were merry and grave as occasion 
warranted. 

She was an orphan, somebody said, and not 
being very rich had her own way to make in the 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


175 


world. She was studying to become a teacher, 
and already had charge of some of the girls in 
the primary department. 

‘ ‘ Are you running for the doctor or the fire 
engine?” called out a pleasant voice from the 
big, yellow, cocoon-like hammock, as Sarah 
Dakota’s saunter suddenly changed into a hur- 
ried, swinging gait. 

“Neither,” pausing in her wild pace. And 
she added, a little shyly, “You look cool and 
comfortable, Miss Hendricks.” 

“I am. This big hemlock always seems like 
a dear, protecting old giant. I believe all the 
wandering breezes come to pay their respects to 
it. They’re very pleasant to-day, for it is warm 
in spite of the lateness of the season. It’s 90 
degrees in the shade. Come, you had better 
come here and share the hammock with me. 
It’s a most commodious one.” 

“Thanks, but I see you are busy study- 
ing. 

“I’m nearly through. It’s my Sunday 
school lesson. You have the same ‘Helps’ in 
your church, I believe. Aren’t you greatly in- 
terested in them?” 

“I don’t know much about them. The super- 
intendent asks questions, and the scholars an- 


176 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


swer; but you see I am in Aunt Katrinka’s 
class, and she believes in our learning verses.’ ' 

“Well, that is a very good plan,” said 
Essie, thoughtfully. ‘ ‘ I find that the verses I 
learned when I was a wee bit of a girl have 
helped me many a time — and comforted me. 
But the * Lesson Helps’ are good, too. The 
lesson for to-morrow is very interesting. Don’t 
you want to sit down a few minutes, and we 
will go over it together.” 

Rather bashfully Sarah Dakota took her seat 
in the hammock beside the pink gown. Why 
she accepted the invitation she hardly knew. 
She felt drawn toward Essie. Almost every- 
body did. It was not because Essie was re- 
markably beautiful or remarkably talented, nor 
had she wealth or high position. But her face 
was pure and noble, her manners were genuine- 
ly kind ; and then her voice had such a true, 
sincere ring in it that, as little Garde said, 
“ She was the bestest girl to go to when you’re 
hurted, ’cause when she acts sorryful you know 
she means it, and when she laughs it’s never 
’cause she’s makin’ fun.” 

Garde had his opinion, favorable or other- 
wise, of every girl in Madame Pinkeray’s estab- 
lishment. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


177 


Thus it happened that Sarah Dakota, as well 
as her little cousin, felt the charm of Essie Hen- 
dricks's presence. 

“What does she wear that little cross for?" 
she wondered, as she saw the little silver cross 
suspended from its purple ribbon around Es- 
sie's neck. And after a while, feeling a little 
better acquainted, she asked the question, and 
Essie modestly yet earnestly told her about the 
Order of the King’s Daughters, of the work it 
had done for the Master, of the friendships it 
had made and cemented, of the widespread in- 
fluence for good among young girls. And Sarah 
Dakota, listening eagerly, felt her spiritual 
vision suddenly widen and take in the uplifting 
thought that her life was not hers alone — that 
God had given it to her to reach out and touch 
other lives and help them and be helped by 
them. Pride, selfishness, stubbornness were 
swept away before the sweet, strong meaning of 
the little silver symbol, and the thoughts led by 
it came to that other cross, the cross of Cal- 
vary, on which her Saviour had died ! For the 
first time in her life she realized the awful sig- 
nificance of that sacrifice. Christ had died for 
her — for her. Very earnestly, though quietly, 
the two girls talked together — Essie, the leader, 
12 


178 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


grave and tender, with a mute prayer in her 
heart that God would give her wisdom to help 
this schoolmate, and Sarah Dakota with an 
eager desire and firm resolve to learn more of 
the truth. 

The warm, ripe, autumn wind swept through 
the boughs over their heads, making a low, 
soft melody. The yellow leaves of the elms 
and walnuts came scudding down the path like 
huge butterflies. The air was sweet with late 
mignonette and asters and pungent with ripened 
pears and grapes in the garden. A blue haze 
veiled the hills. The broad “ flats,' ’ still fresh 
and green, lay steeped in sunshine. The river, 
the winding Mohav/k, dimpled and sparkled 
through their midst. 

I do not know what the lesson in that Sun- 
day school “Help” was. Sarah Dakota could 
tell you. She never forgot it. It was a les- 
son, perhaps, such as you girls, who read this, 
had last Sunday, and which your teacher tried 
very hard to impress upon your minds. Did 
she succeed, may I ask, or were her words lost 
while you were looking over your library book, 
watching some girls in another class or criti- 
cising the dress of those near you ? 

Somebody up at Bonnybrook Hall called 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


179 


Essie, and she had to hurry away before the 
lesson was quite finished. 

Sarah Dakota sauntered down the sunny 
slope toward the uncultivated part of the 
grounds. There was a marshy place here, 
where the brown cat-tails held up their velvet 
spears and the flags waved their blue-green 
swords and the dragon flies flashed by in their 
shining armor. 

A stone wall ran along the lower length. A 
wild grapevine draped the rough, gray bowl- 
ders, and clusters of purple grapes lay ripening 
in the mellow sunshine. 

The girl reached up and gathered some. She 
liked these grapes. They reminded her of the 
wild plums with pleasant, puckery taste that she 
used to gather along the banks of the Rolling- 
stone. 

There was a little niche in the wall, formed 
by a large stone having tumbled down, and 
Sarah Dakota perched herself in this lichen- 
covered seat and ate the grapes* until her lips 
and finger tips were tinged a deep red. 

Suddenly there was a little noise overhead, a 
tumbling of gravel and pebbles, and then a 
boyish face, tanned and freckled, framed in a 
shock of tow-colored hair, peered over the edge 


180 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


of the wall. Then an arm in a ragged sleeve 
reached down, and a grimy hand stretched out 
a three-cornered, pink-tinted note, and the boy 
said : 

‘ ‘ A feller said as how I was to give this to 
you.” 

Sarah Dakota stared. 

“For me?” she exclaimed. “There must 
be some mistake.” 

“No, there ain't!” — with a grin, “He — 
the feller — was a-peekin’ through the hedge, an’ 
says he to me, ‘ Give it to the girl with the brown 
hat on. He’d gin it himself, I s’pose, ’cause 
he was hangin’ around for a chance, but a 
couple of the teachers come walkin’ out o’ the 
gateway an’ he had to mosey along.” 

“But who is ‘ he ’? ” much mystified. 

“ Guess you know him,” with another grin 
and a wink and a tucking of his tongue in the 
corner of his mouth. “0, you know him ! He 
wears plaid trousies, an’ his mustache’s cornin’ 
on the next train. ’Tain’t arrived yet, though 
he thinks it is. He chops his words off like a city 
swell. 0, you know him!” 

“Well, I don’t!” said the girl, indignantly. 

“Oho!” And the bare, brown legs were 
drawn up over the stone wall and the little 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


181 


urchin disappeared with another cross-eyed 
wink and the gratuitous information, “He gin 
me ten cents for handin’ you the note.” 

Sarah Dakota unfolded the scented pink 
note. She read on mechanically. The puzzled 
look on her face changed to one of consterna- 
tion. 

“Poor Jule!” she exclaimed in a tone of 
dismay. “0, what shall I do! Poor Jule!” 


CHAPTER XII. 

AN INTERCEPTED LETTER. 

(? ARAH DAKOTA turned and walked slow- 
^ ly back to Bonnybrook Hall. Just on the 
other side of the tall cedar hedge she met 
Juliet. She was walking very fast, and her 
face, beneath the white, lilac-trimmed hat, was 
flushed and anxious. 

A sudden thought flashed through Sarah 
Dakota's mind as she saw the white hat. 

“She had on mine and I had on hers," she 
said to herself. “He — that fellow," with a 
sniff of contempt — “must have thought by the 
hat that Juliet was sitting under the big hem- 
lock. Yes, he made a mistake! I knew" — 
here the sniff changed into a snort of disdain — 
“ I knew he wouldn’t dare write such silly stuff 
to me. The idea of sending me an invita- 
tion!" 

“Where have you been?" Juliet called out 
as she drew near. “Guy has come for us with 
the buggy to go to the farm. Mademoiselle 
D’ Argent said she saw you in the hammock 
with Essie Hendricks. You must love to go 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


183 


with the goody-goodies,” she sneered. Then 
she added: “Then somebody else said that 
you went to town with the minister’s wife, Mrs. 
Hardy, who called for her. They were going 
to distribute tracts or read the Bible to some 
sick person, I believe. I knew that wasn’t in 
your line, and so it wasn’t likely that you’d go 
with them. I’ve been hunting all over the 
premises. Where have you been? I should 
think you'd want to stay in a decent part of the 
grounds instead of prowling around down in 
that tangle by the swamp.” 

“I saw you go down there yesterday,” 
said her cousin, boldly. 

“Well,” somewhat abashed, “maybe I did. 
Whose business is it, anyway?” inconsistently. 
“If I see that it spoils one's shoes and skirts 
to ramble among the briars and mud, I should 
think you’d feel grateful to be warned. It's a 
dreadfully lonesome place, too.” 

“It wasn’t so very lonesome to-day,” was 
the cool response. “I had some company” 
— and with her handkerchief she tried to wipe 
the grape stains from her lips and fingers. 

“Company?” — and the rose tints deepened 
in the face beneath the white hat. “I say” — 
eagerly — “was it a — a young — gentleman?” 


184 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“A very young gentleman/’ Sarah Dakota 
replied, while the corners of her mouth twitched. 
‘‘He was a little older than Garde, though — 
eight, perhaps. His garments were constructed 
on the principle of good ventilation. Such big 
holes ! 0, he’ll never be slain for his beauty — 
that boy! He had the biggest plantation of 
freckles I ever saw. His hair was blond and 
abundant, as the novels say. Two of his front 
teeth were missing, and when he smiles — and 
he was generally grinning — one felt as though 
peering into realms of space.” 

“0, don’t run on like Bill Nye!” impa- 
tiently snapped Juliet. 

“I didn’t mean to. I don’t know who Mr. 
Nye is. 0, he’s the man who writes for the 
papers and has a bald head, isn’t he? This 
little boy didn’t resemble him in the latter re- 
spect, for he had quantities of hair. His head 
looked like a haycock!” 

‘ ‘ Then it was only a little boy whom you saw 
down by the swamp?” 

“ Only a little boy,” calmly. “ But,” — fix- 
ing her hazel eyes keenly on her cousin, Sarah 
Dakota added, — “he gave me this note which 
he was paid to deliver. It seems to be for 
you.” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


185 


Juliet’s face was flame-colored now. 

“ I suppose you read it?” she exclaimed 
tartly. 

‘‘Yes, Juliet, I read it. There was no ad- 
dress on it, and the little boy declared that it 
was for me.” 

“You might have known that it wasn’t for 
you!” 

‘ ‘ I thought there must be some mistake and 
told him so, but he declared that he had been 
ordered to give it to the girl in the brown hat.” 

“The brown hat was mine, as you very well 
knew. 0, it’s a very fine thing to pry into my 
correspondence !” 

It was Sarah Dakota's face that was flame- 
colored now. “I didn’t think anything about 
it at first — whose hat I wore, I mean,” she 
said. “And if you hadn’t run off with my 
white one, perhaps there wouldn’t have been any 
mistake made.” 

“Well,” rejoined Juliet, somewhat molli- 
fied, “ I suppose you weren’t really to blame for 
wearing my hat. It's very unfortunate, though, 
that the mistake has been made. I wish now 
thafrfor goodness sakes I’d left your white one 
at home. But I say, little Indian, now what 
did you make out from that letter?” 


186 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“Only that you’d had some correspondence 
with the writer before, and that now he wanted 
you to go off on some excursion — a party or 
hop or something held over at the Springs. He 
wrote awfully flowery. He must be a goose — 
or a gander, I mean!” scornfully. 

“Well, you needn’t make fun of what you 
can't appreciate,” said Juliet, bridling. “It is 
customary for gentlemen, when they write to 
ladies, to use refined and poetical expressions.” 

“Well, it seems to me that they ought to dot 
their i’s and cross their t’s and begin sentences 
with a capital. And your correspondent spelled 
Wednesday ‘Wensday.’ ” 

“0, that was just a little carelessness,” re- 
plied Juliet. “He knows how, of course. He’s 
quite a literary man, and has been a correspond- 
ent for a society paper over at the Springs — 
it’s called the F litter-Flutter Daily.” 

“Well, who is ‘he’ anyhow?” rather impa- 
tiently. 

“Don’t you remember the day you and I 
came to the Van Dorn farm? You know we 
rode on the cars together.” 

“Yes,” said the Western girl, drily, remem- 
bering the snubbing and criticism she had re- 
ceived on that occasion. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


187 


“Well, perhaps you noticed a young gentle- 
man sitting just across the aisle from me. He 
was dressed very nicely — a perfect symphony 
in gray his clothes were.” 

“ Garde noticed him ; said he had on ‘ check- 
er-board trousies,’ ” with a mischievous giggle. 

‘ ‘ Garde is always making absurd remarks ! 
His pantaloons were plaid, of course, and Ron- 
ald Woodington De Ruyter is real English in 
his ways. I think it's so nice! I take after 
the English myself,” complacently. 

“ So did some of our ancestors,” roguishly 
suggested her cousin. “ Guy said they fought 
bravely at the battle of Oriskany and took after 
the British good and lively.” 

“0, that happened long ago! Folks 
should let by-gones be by-gones,” with a virtu- 
ous air. “The English are friendly with us 
now — everybody thinks Queen Victoria is a 
lovely lady — and there’s no reason why we 
shouldn't learn things from them.” 

‘ * Seeing they learned so many things from 
us — in '76 — learned about tea and taxes and 
all those interesting little bits of informa- 
tion,” interrupted Sarah Dakota, and she 
added, “But pray go on about the ‘ checker- 
board-trousied' man — Ronald Woodington De 


188 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Ruyter. My, what a mouthful his name 
makes ! ’ ’ 

“ Well, he’s real nice ! I thought so when I 
first saw him on the train. We had quite a 
chat. He told me about himself. He’d been 
prepared for college, he said, but the mean old 
professors wouldn’tlet him in. They prevented 
him from passing the examinations by putting 
in a lot of foolish questions that nobody ever did 
or could answer. He was so disappointed that 
his health gave way and he was obliged to stop 
studying so hard, and so he began writing for 
the Flitter-Flutter Daily. He says that he can 
describe a lady’s dress beautifully, and that the 
first glance he gave me that day on the cars 
satisfied him that I had charming taste.” Here 
Juliet was silent a minute in pleased contempla- 
tion of the compliment. Then she continued : 
“And so, as our tastes lay in the same direction, 
we became friends at once, and afterwards, when 
Ronald came in town to visit his aunt here, why, 
of course, we occasionally met, sometimes out 
walking — before I came to Bonnybrook Hall, I 
mean — and sometimes at picnics, and one Sat- 
urday I met him at Minnie Lee's lawn party. 
0, he’s lovely, Ronald is — and so sympathetic, 
you can’t think ! He says it's a shame to keep 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


189 


girls as strict as Madame Pinkeray does. Just 
as though we were nuns in a convent!" 

“ Why, I think we have a pretty good time, 
generally." 

“ 0, well, it suits you, I suppose," supercili- 
ously. “ But we have no social enjoyments — 
only a picnic or a musicale or some prosy 
thing! Ronald says I'd be a real star in soci- 
ety, and so " — lowering her tone — “ and so, he 
and some of the young people in the village 
have gotten up an evening ride over to the 
Springs. That’s what the note was about, and, 
look here, little Indian," anxiously, “ you won’t 
say a word about it, will you?" 

“What difference will my saying anything 
about it make. Surely, you are not going ? ’’ 
— this was said with real surprise. 

Juliet tossed her head. “ Going? Why, of 
course I shall go!" she exclaimed. “ Do you 
suppose that I’d let slip so fine an opportunity 
for a good time? I haven’t been to an out and 
out party since I've been here. The aunties 
have a holy horror of dancing. And I guess 
Madame Pinkeray has pretty much the same 
opinion, for, when I talked to her about it the 
other day, she looked at me with those big, 
brown eyes of hers and said in her soft, little 


190 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


voice, ‘ My dear, when you’re not certain that 
anything is right, better be on the safe side and 
let it alone ! ’ ” 

“ That’s what she’ll say about that moonlight 
ride over to the Springs.” 

“She won’t know anything about it!” — 
with a nervous little laugh. “Do you sup- 
pose I’d be such a ninny as to say a word to 
her? And if you do” — here Juliet’s eyes 
flashed — “if you do, I’ll never, never forgive 
you ! ' ' 

“ Now look here, Jule,” her cousin began, 
persuasively. 

“Hush! you needn’t begin to preach,” 
Juliet interrupted. “And as for yourself, you’re 
not cut out for a goody-goody, though you do 
seem to try to be one sometimes. You’re just 
as wild and giddy as I am sometimes. I say, 
why can’t you go along with us? We’ll make 
room for you somehow. I’ll drop a line to 
Ronald and he’ll see that you’ll have a place. 
Come now,” she coaxed. 

“No, thank you,” hastily. “ I wouldn’t go 
for all the world ! We would be deceiving 
Madame Pinkeray and the aunties, and — 0, 
Juliet, I think it’d be awfully mean !” 

“Not as mean as snooping into another per- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


191 


son’s letters!” exclaimed Juliet, with a signifi- 
cant tap on the pink-tinted note she still held 
in her hand. 

“You know very well how I happened to 
read your note,” Sarah Dakota rejoined, with 
dignity. “And as for knowing its contents, 
indeed I’m very sorry I do know them. It 
makes me feel uncomfortable. It puts a heavy 
burden on me. I don’t know what to do. If 
I could only persuade you to have nothing to 
do with this Ronald De — something or other ! 
We were sent here to study, not to think about 
parties, beaux, and such things. They seem 
very silly, anyway ! ’ ' 

“Well, I’m older than you.” 

“ Only a little over a year. And you know 
what Madame Pinkeray spoke about the other 
day. How girls should not hold themselves 
cheap and common and be intimate and fa- 
miliar with every stranger. She said that we 
should be frank and honest and courteous to 
everybody, yet allow no freedom or favors 
except from those who were near and dear 
to us. Because, she said, the time would 
come when, if we did not regard ourselves 
highly and were giddy and careless, we would 
look back with deep regret or, perhaps, be an- 


192 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


noyed by acquaintances we had made at a silly 
moment — acquaintances that might be difficult 
to shake off.” 

“ My, what an oration ! ” she sneered. 4 ‘You 
surely ought to be appointed valedictorian to the 
class, and read an essay or make a speech on 
the ‘Model Young Lady of the Period.’ I 
didn’t think you were such a bit of blotting- 
paper ! You’ve copied Madame’s exact words.” 

“0, Madame' s words were better chosen 
than mine, I think, but I got her meaning. 
I’m glad you give me credit for learning some- 
thing. You’re always sneering at my stupid- 
ity. But it’s no use to quarrel,” and Sarah 
Dakota turned to walk away, for she felt her 
temper getting the better of her and she was 
fast losing all the sweet influence of the talk 
with Essie Hendricks, as well as the good reso- 
lutions she had made. 

“It’s always so,” she muttered to herself. 
“ Just as soon as I begin to think about trying to 
do right, something turns up to make me angry. 
It was so the first Sunday at church. I had 
begun to feel peaceful and happy and then 
Juliet fell to teasing me. 0 dear!” 

“See here!” — and Juliet ran after her. 
“ See here, I didn’t mean to make you mad! 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


193 


I suppose what you said is all right enough, only 
it isn’t according to my way of thinking. I 
like to have a good time and I don’ t see a bit 
of harm. I have been to dancing parties in the 
city and I don’t think those in the country are 
any worse. It is a very respectable place over 
at the Springs. Of course, though, if you 
don’t want to go, I sha’n’t tease you.” 

“ And you won’t go either, will you? ” said 
Sarah Dakota, quite forgetting her anger, for 
Juliet’s tone was no longer mocking, but, in- 
stead, gentle and affectionate. “You won’t go 
either ? ’ ' 

Juliet’s face flushed. She was silent for a 
minute. The toe of her little pointed shoe 
turned over a pebble in the gravel walk, and 
an older person might have detected a certain 
crafty expression on her pretty face. 

“ Go ? ” she said, in a low, rather pettish 
tone. “Go? How can anybody want to go 
after you’ve made such a racket about it. I 
can drop Ronald a line, I suppose, saying I 
can't go. He’ll be dreadfully disappointed, 
poor fellow, but I guess it won't quite kill him, 
and if it does, I suppose you’ll be delighted ! 
0, I suppose I can’t go, so don’t let us say 
anything about the matter. But come, there’s 
13 


194 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Guy with the carriage up by the front door. I 
guess he thinks we have taken an age, and he’ll 
be as cross as two sticks!” 

But Guy was not as “cross as two sticks.” 
He had passed the time pleasantly and profita- 
bly. His eyes shone, and there was a tinge of 
red on his sallow cheeks as he held the horse 
while the girls took their seats in the carriage. 

“Waited long, did I?” he said. “I didn’t 
notice how late it was. I’ve had a first-rate 
time. It was poky waiting at first; then 
Madame Pinkeray called me from the parlor 
window and asked me if I didn’t want to tie 
Black Bess and come in for a little while. I 
didn’t know who she was at first — thought it 
was one of the teachers. But I tell you ” — with 
boyish enthusiasm — “she’s awfully nice! She 
showed me her library. She has got a lot of 
books, hasn’t she? I saw an old German Bible 
with the oddest woodcuts in it. And she has a 
copy of Pilgrim's Progress that’s ever so old. 
She took me into the laboratory, too. It’s very 
interesting there. She said I must come over 
some day when the professor is making experi- 
ments. Then we went up into the room that’s 
been fixed for a gymnasium. I should think 
you girls ’d have lots of fun practicing. I 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


195 


never thought I’d like it, but I do now. The 
bars and trapeze were splendid — I tried them 
some." 

“You did?" And both cousins laughed. 
Guy’s antipathy to exertion of any sort was a 
standing joke in the Van Dorn family. 

“Yes, I did!" with unusual animation. “It 
was great fun. Madame Pinkeray advised me 
to have a rope and pulleys over my bedroom 
door. She said my chest was narrow with 
stooping over my books and growing so fast. 
She asked about my studies, too, and" — this 
a little proudly — “she seemed to think I was 
well advanced for my age. I shouldn’t mind 
coming here to recitations one bit if — if there 
weren’t so many girls around" — this last with 
a sudden shyness as a bevy of damsels, sing- 
ing and laughing, came around the corner of 
the house. 

‘ ‘ There ! Hurry up and get settled down in 
the carriage, Territory ! Black Bess is nervous 
at seeing that galaxy of beauty — and so am I. 
There ! Bow your adieux, Juliet — don’t stop 
to be so excruciatingly graceful ! ’ ’ 


196 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE AMETHYSTS. 

'"THEY had what Guy called “a real jolly 
* ride ’ * home. The air was crisp with the 
coolness of an autumn afternoon drawing to a 
close, and Black Bess, stimulated by it, was in 
her best spirits. She kicked up her little heels 
and carried the buggy along at such a rattling 
pace that some of the steady old Mohawk 
Valley farmers turned and stared and gravely 
shook their heads, and remarked that “ Roscoe 
Van Dorn was a leetle risky in lettin’ sech a 
reckless crew have that ’ere mare!” 

But Guy was an accomplished driver now. 
He had learned many ideas from Sarah Da- 
kota. All he knew a few months before she 
came was to hold the reins of Maggie, the old 
white horse, who went along the road at a 
funereal rate, occasionally lapsing into a medi- 
tative doze, from which she was aroused by a 
flick of the whip or a tickle from a mischievous 
fly. Maggie was never disturbed at anything. 
Engines might snort and whistles toot, fire- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


197 


crackers fizz and bang, and bicycles dart by — 
nothing ever startled her nerves. 

Guy could manage old Maggie then; he 
could manage gay young Bess now. And 
certainly his hands had grown stronger, his 
nerves steadier by the lessons thus learned. 

The young people found everything as usual 
at the Van Dorn farm — quiet and peaceful. 

The sunset showed bars of orange and red 
back of the peaked roof and tall chimneys. 
The cows — a long line of black and white and 
soft fawn color — were coming up the lane. 
Their breath was sweet with clover. Jabez, the 
hired man, was going into the yard with two 
shining milk pails swung on a yoke across his 
shoulders. 

The young people found Aunt Barbara in the 
kitchen. She was very busy. She had on three 
aprons. First, a black silk one, with lace 
trimmed pockets, which she had put on in the 
early part of the afternoon, to be ready for 
callers ; over this was a white one, worn when 
she set the tea table ; the last was a blue ging- 
ham, broad and long, going down to the hem 
of her black gown. The gingham was essen- 
tial just now, for Aunt Barbara was doing up 
crab apples. 


198 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“I meant to do it next week,” she ex- 
plained to her nieces and nephew as they came 
into the kitchen, “but they wouldn’t wait. 
They were dead ripe. I was afraid they’d get 
meally, and so wouldn’t jell. Just see how 
purple red they are. But tea is just ready, and 
I’ll be in there in a few minutes.” And she 
went on pouring out ladleful after ladleful of 
rich sirup into the bowls and tumblers waiting 
for it. 

She had made preserves, too, and there was 
a long row of cans on the table. Every apple 
in them was thoroughly cooked, steeped in 
richness, and yet with its skin unbroken. The 
slanting sunlight shone through the glasses in 
quivering, shimmer gleams of ruby, claret, and 
crimson. 

Garde, perched on a chair by the table, was 
helping — that is, he had taken the fruit one by 
one by its slender stem and handed it to Aunt 
Barbara. He had enjoyed it all very much. 
He had tasted the pink, sugary scum Aunt 
Barbara skimmed off so carefully, and had 
had two hot, candied apples to eat, and now 
he was patiently waiting to scrape out the pre- 
serving kettle in which the fruit had been 
cooked. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


199 


“ There was a little boy, 

An urchin most deserving. 

Who always licked the pan 

When his aunt was preserving!” 


sang out Guy as he entered the kitchen. 

“That’s me,” said Garde, placidly, as his 
tongue wandered lovingly around the rim of a 
big silver spoon. “ I like to help folks work; 
don’t I, Aunt Barbara?” 

“Yes, dear, of course you do. Only don’t 
get your elbow in that puddle of sirup; and 
don’t touch the jars or stir their covers.” 

“No’m. If I did it would make them sizzle 
out, wouldn’t it? Once, when I was at home, 
I went in the storeroom and unscrewed some of 
mamma’s cans of pears and strawberries, and, 
after a while, they got all frothy and sizzly like 
soda water, only they didn’t taste as good. 
Bridget said they were ‘working,’ and scolded 
me and threw them out in the back yard, and 
Mrs. O’Brien’s goat — the one with whiskers — 
got at them and ate them up — every single 
pear! He swallowed the rubbers to the cans, 
too — Bridget threw everything out — and tried to 
chew on the rings to the covers. He’d eat any- 
thing, that goat would.” 

“I hope my crab apples won't meet with 


200 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


such a fate,” said Aunt Barbara, decidedly, and 
then she added, turning to the other young 
folks, “O, I'm so glad to see you, girls! It’s 
been a long, lonely week without you. Aunt 
Katrinka was speaking about it at dinner 
Thursday. 0, we’ve missed you, I can assure 
you. I’m glad you’re home. I’ve got a nice 
supper for you — chicken croquettes and lemon 
jelly, with whipped cream on it. Going to 
have muffins, too. I didn’t mean that you 
should find me out here in this mess. I wanted 
to get through preserving ; but what with 
Garde’s ‘help’ and Mrs. Deacon Grimes call- 
ing, I am a little late. But run upstairs and 
take off your things. I think you’ll find your 
Aunt Katrinka up there.” 

Guy curled himself up with a book on the 
window sill at the landing by the head of the 
stairs, but the girls went on till they found Aunt 
Katrinka. She was in her room tidying up her 
bureau drawers. I don't mean by this that 
those bureau drawers were ever really out of or- 
der. You might have gone to them at any 
time, day or night, at busy times or leisure 
times, and found everything in its place. Her 
gloves always lay straight and even, with the 
finger tips pulled out ; her hairpins were care- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


201 


fully assorted. There was a quilted satin pad 
covering the bottom of each drawer, and it was 
sweet with the old-fashioned scent of orris. In 
one drawer was a box of ribbons — such rib- 
bons as you seldom see nowadays. They were 
of lutestring, crape, and “pineapple silk,” and 
ribbons with little satin bouquets embroidered on 
them. All were in delicate colors — silvery 
gray, lavender, sea-green, rose-pink, and ivory. 
Near them was a sandalwood box containing 
trinkets, and Aunt Katrinka was arranging, or 
rather rearranging, these things. 

After the first greetings the girls, of course, 
crowded around the bureau, eager to see the 
quaint pretty things. 

Suddenly Sarah Dakota caught a gleam of 
light from a small box of inlaid woods, the 
cover of which had tipped slightly. 

“0, jewels !” she cried, eagerly. “Pray let 
us see them, that’s a dear, good auntie!” 

“Very well, my dears. They are some jew- 
els Barbara and I wore when we were young. 
They are all old-fashioned, but some of them 
are quite valuable — heirlooms, you know.” 

There were two brooches of pearls and 
onyx, a pair of gold bracelets — heavy and cum- 
bersome — a couple of earrings with tiny dia- 


202 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


monds in them, several big gold watches, long 
in the Van Dorn family; there were rings with 
hearts and hands clasped, chains and strings of 
gold beads, and gold and silver brooches. But 
what especially attracted the girls’ attention 
was an amethyst necklace. It was not the 
most valuable thing in the box, but there was 
something very pretty about the dainty filigree 
work that formed the setting and about the 
stones themselves — great, limpid lights of pale 
purple. 

4 ‘ They make me think of twilight in the val- 
ley here,” said Sarah Dakota. “ Silvery mist 
and pink and purple haze, with the stars flash- 
ing out one by one.” 

“They’re' perfectly exquisite!” exclaimed 
Juliet, dancing toward the long mirror. She 
put the jewels on her white neck, arching it this 
way and that, pleased with the effect. 

“ They just suit me!” she cried, gayly. 

“ I think they would look very well on Sa- 
rah Dakota, too,” observed Aunt Katrinka. 
“They’d go very nicely with her amber hair 
and hazel eyes. Try them on, dear.” 

Juliet unclasped them rather reluctantly and 
Sarah Dakota put them on. 

For the first time in her life, perhaps, she 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


203 


experienced a genuine spasm of vanity as she 
gazed into the mirror. 

“ I like them better than pearls or dia- 
monds !” she exclaimed, with flushed cheeks. 

“We shall have to coax Aunt Katrinka to let 
us wear them sometimes/ ’ said Juliet, with a 
bland smile. 

Aunt Katrinka shook her head. 

“ Not yet/’ she said, gravely. “You girls 
are too young to wear such ornaments. Flow- 
ers are much more suitable. Maybe when you 
are both older you may have some of the 
things in this box/’ And Aunt Katrinka took 
the amethyst necklace in her soft white hands, 
put it back in its tray in the box, and shut 
down the lid. 

Juliet watched her. There was a thoughtful 
expression on the girl’s face. Turning away 
she waltzed to the window, then going to a big 
easy chair curled herself among its cushions, 
began chatting in an animated way about the 
affairs of the farm, of how many cows Jabez 
milked now, and whether the brown leghorn 
had really stolen a nest and would come forth 
with a brood of young ones so late in the 
season. 

Sarah Dakota, on the contrary, was very 


♦ 


204 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


quiet. She had taken up a little black book 
from the table, and was turning over its leaves 
one by one. 

‘ ‘ What a queer book ! ’ ' she at last ex- 
claimed. “Thomas a Kempis’s Imitation of 
Christ . Why, it seems like a Bible. Who 
wrote it, and what is it about, auntie?" 

‘ ‘ That is a book which has given me a great 
deal of comfort, my child," replied Aunt Ka- 
trinka, as she carefully folded her laces. “It 
was written by a monk many years ago — in the 
thirteenth century, I believe. He was a Catho- 
lic, I suppose, but could not have been very 
bigoted or cruel, for he seems to have had 
great love not only toward God, but toward all 
mankind. It is said that this little book was 
one of the earliest influences that brought on the 
Reformation. Read a little in it, my dear, and 
you will see how strong, true, and beautiful it 
is." 

Sarah Dakota read in a low, earnest voice, 
turning over page after page. She seemed 
much impressed by the words. Juliet, too, was 
thoughtful. She made no comments, however, 
but sat in languid attitude with her face turned 
toward the bureau at which Aunt Katrinka still 
sat. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


205 


Presently Aunt Barbara's voice was heard in 
the lower hall calling them to supper. 

Accordingly they all went down, and, in the 
dining room cheery with the newly kindled 
wood fire on the hearth and with the inviting 
tea table, they found Uncle Roscoe, with his 
ruddy, happy face, and little Garde, who, 
divested of his coating of apple jelly, already 
sat at the table with the dictionary propping 
him up — Garde abhorred high chairs. 

And when the curtains were down and the 
lamps lighted and Aunt Katrinka began pour- 
ing out tea from the teapot with the cupid and 
roses, it would have been hard to find a hap- 
pier party. 

Uncle Roscoe was in his jolliest mood and 
cracked his best jokes. Some of them were 
old ones, but that made them all the funnier 
everybody thought. Guy was so exhilarated by 
his pleasant visit with Madame Pinkeray that he 
forgot to be moody or dull. Aunt Barbara was 
happy because she had been successful in her 
preserving and jelly making, and Aunt Katrinka 
— well, Aunt Katrinka was something of a phi- 
losopher, so she was always in a serene state 
of mind. But both aunties recalled afterwards 
how, in the gale of merriment that swept around 


206 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


the tea table, that the two who were generally 
the gayest were on this occasion rather silent. 

Sarah Dakota was thinking of the book 
written so long ago — of Thomas & Kempis and 
the words he had written : 

“Why, therefore, fearest thou to take up 
the cross which leadeth thee to a kingdom.’ ’ 

“In the cross is salvation, in the cross is life, 
in the cross is protection against our enemies, 
in the cross is infusion of heavenly sweetness, 
in the cross is strength of mind, in the cross 
joy of spirit, in the cross the height of virtue, 
in the cross the perfection of sanctity.” 

“There is no salvation of the soul nor hope 
of everlasting life but in the cross.” 

“Take up, therefore, thy cross and follow 
Jesus, and thou shalt go into life everlasting. 
He went before, bearing his cross, and died for 
thee on the cross, that thou mightest also bear 
thy cross.” 

“Go where thou wilt, seek whatsoever thou 
wilt, thou shalt not find a higher way above nor a 
safer way below than the way of the holy cross. ’ * 

Those words were in the same accord with 
those of the Sabbath school lesson she and 
Essie Hendricks had studied. After all, God’s 
love never changes. Had she not read in the 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


207 


little Bible, “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, 
and to-day, and forever.” 

Juliet, as we have said, was silent, too. Was 
she thinking of the pure, uplifting words of the 
old monk that her cousin had read aloud up in 
Aunt Katrinka’s room? 

She begged to be excused from the table 
once; she had left her handkerchief up stairs, 
she guessed. She would run up and get it — it 
wouldn’t take but a minute. 

And so she went away, while all were busy 
chatting, and soon returned, the handkerchief 
conspicuously displayed in her hand. She 
walked so hurriedly to her chair that little 
Garde, who sat by her, looked up and ex- 
claimed : 

“Why, Jule! Your cheeks are as red as — 
as crab apples ! And your breath comes quick 
and fast like my dog Ponto’s after he's been 
chasing my ball !” 

“ You shouldn’t run up stairs, my dear,” 
said Aunt Barbara in a gentle, reproving tone. 
‘ ‘ When I was a young lady it was thought to 
be very dangerous — liable to bring on palpita- 
tion of the heart, you know.” 

“ Yes’m. I’ll try to remember next time,” 
said Juliet in a very respectful voice. 


208 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


It was Wednesday night of the next week 
that Sarah Dakota, in her little bedroom at 
Madame Pinkeray’s, was suddenly aroused from 
a sound slumber. She had gone to bed early 
and soon fallen asleep. What aroused her she 
could not at first tell — a rustling, a footfall, and 
then the rattle of a lamp chimney. 

There was a dim, yellow light in the room as 
she opened her eyes. She saw a slight figure 
wrapped in a long cape — her own cape, for she 
recognized the dark blue cloth and white em- 
broidery on cape and collar. 

It was Juliet who wore it, and, as she tossed 
aside the folds of the garment as she fastened 
it, Sarah Dakota saw underneath white silk 
and dainty lace. 

Juliet had on a party dress. 

Her soft, pretty arms were bare, and so was 
her slender, white neck, and from the latter 
came purple-pink flashes and the gleam of 
gold. 

“0, she has on Aunt Katrinka’s amethyst 
necklace !” Sarah Dakota exclaimed to herself, 
and sat up in bed. 

The rustling she made in tossing aside the 
bedclothes aroused Juliet from the careful and 
admiring survey of herself that she was making 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


209 


in the little hand mirror she held. She turned 
abruptly and blew out the light. 

Only the moonlight streamed in now, but Sa- 
rah Dakota could still see her cousin quite 
plainly — the white, lace-trimmed robe, the star- 
like gems. 

“Where are you going?” Sarah Dakota 
asked in a low, startled tone. 

“Hush! Don’t shout so! You’ll wake 
everybody up !” crossly, and then Juliet rustled 
in her silken robes up to the bedside. “Do 
speak lower if you can !” 

“ But where are you going? I thought, 
when I first woke up, that you were sick or had 
the toothache or something. But I see you 
have on your pretty white silk. And your hair 
is all frizzed, too.” 

Juliet giggled nervously. 

“Well, I suppose I may as well tell you. I 
was in hopes, though, that you’d sleep until I got 
away — you’re generally a regular Rip Van Win- 
kle, you know. But I guess you wouldn’t have 
been aroused to-night if I hadn’t been so un- 
lucky as to drop the lamp chimney and crack 
it. I went to take it off to heat my curling iron 
to fix just one more friz, but the top of the 
chimney was so hot that I let it go. Still, I 
14 


210 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


don’t know as it makes any difference if you 
did wake up ’ ' — defiantly. ‘ ‘ It’s nobody’s busi- 
ness but my own. Well, then, I’m going to 
take that moonlight ride over to the Springs.” 

“To that dance?” 

“Yes, ma’am — to that dance. 0, you 
needn’t be so shocked ! There isn’t the least 
bit of harm in it. I’m going to slip down the 
back stairs — past Ann’s room, off the kitchen. 
She sleeps like a top, and I can tell by her 
snores that it’ll be safe to unlock the back door 
and go out that way. If she should be awake 
when I come back, which it isn’t at all likely 
that she’ll be, why I can get into the tree by our 
window here and step on the piazza roof and 
just hop in, and if Ann finds the door unlocked 
in the morning she’ll think it’s a bit of her own 
carelessness, and you can believe she won't tell 
Madame. Now you know my plans, I hope 
you won’t be mean enough to tell them to 
Madame or any of the teachers, or the aunties 
or anybody. I’d get an awful talking to when 
I came back, and maybe I’d be expelled. But 
now you won’t tell, will you, little Indian?” 
And Juliet’s voice was very sweet and coaxing, 
and she laid her white hand on her cousin’s in a 
caressing way. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


211 


Sarah Dakota moved uneasily. 

‘‘You promised you wouldn’t go,” she said, 
a little scornfully, for she despised the break- 
ing of one’s word. “You promised you 
wouldn’t go.” 

“Well, what if I did! Haven’t I a right to 
change my mind? Besides, I was afraid you’d 
tell the aunties.” 

“ I’m no telltale !” 

“Of course you aren’t.” And again the 
soft white hand patted Sarah Dakota. “You’re 
altogether too honorable, my dear !” And Juliet’s 
tone was the very essence of flattery. 

The little Westerner was vaguely conscious 
of this, and she hastened to say, and somewhat 
decidedly : 

“ But see here, Jule, it’s an awful risk you’re 
running. You may get caught going out or 
coming in, or somebody may see you at the 
party and report it to Madame.” 

“0, there’s little likelihood of any of those 
things happening. I shall be very careful.” 

“But it seems so mean — so disgraceful, 
stealing off like a thief at night!” warmly. 

“That’s my lookout. I am going with re- 
spectable young people. They are all gay and 
lively, of course; but what’s the harm? I 


212 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


couldn’t back out now, anyhow, for they’d all 
laugh at me, and Ronald would feel real hurt 
and angry.” 

“I wouldn’t care. I don’t think they are 
very true friends, or friends worth having, when 
they coax you to do something your father and 
your teachers wouldn’t want you to do.” 

“ I don’t look at it in that way. They want 
me to have a good time. They have taken 
pains to have me get it. They know that I am 
cooped up here like a nun, and are sorry for 
me. 

“But what’ll the aunties think about it?” 

“Those dear, blessed-, proper old souls 
needn’t know anything about it. They'd have 
a cotton flannel fit if they knew it, and I don’t 
believe you’ll be so cruel as to tell them.” 

“I certainly don’t want to, for they’d feel 
dreadfully.” 

“Of course you don’t want to tell them. 
You don’t want to tell anybody. I know I can 
trust you.” And Juliet kissed her cousin ef- 
fusively. 

“ Now,” she added, as she left the bedside 
and proceeded to tie a fleecy worsted “fasci- 
nator” around her head, “now I’m going to 
slip away as quiet as a mouse. You may ex- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


213 


pect me back in the ‘wee sma’ hours.’ Then 
I shall tell you what a perfectly lovely time I’ve 
had and make you awfully sorry you didn’t go 
too. You see, I take the liberty of wearing 
your cloak; it’s so much longer than mine, and 
I wanted to cover up my dress. There, little 
Indian, do you hear that owl hoot? That’s 
Ronald. Doesn’t he hoot beautifully? It’s a 
sign that he and the girls are down the road by 
the old sycamore. Ten o’clock? That isn’t 
so very late, is it? I’m glad for once that 
Madame made the rule that the house should be 
quiet at nine o'clock. It has given me a whole 
hour to get ready in, besides putting the rest to 
sleep. Where’s my fan? Now, I’ll be off, and 
you snuggle down to sleep.” 

“0, I wish you wouldn’t go!” said Sarah 
Dakota in a faltering voice. 

“Nonsense! I’d be a goose to stay. Don’t 
worry about me. All you have to do is to 
keep mum. Good-bye!” And, showering 
kisses light and sweet as rose leaves on her 
cousin’s tearful face, Juliet tiptoed down the 
stairs and out into the road, where the “owl,” 
— the ‘ ‘ owl ' ’ with ‘ ‘ checkerboard trousies ’ * 
— still hooted in a long-drawn minor key. 


214 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MISS VAN DORN’S NIECE. 

'T'HE moonlight still shone down on Bonny- 
* brook Hall. The night wind waved the 
boughs of the trees, and their shadows, ming- 
ling with the silvery rays, made flickering bars of 
black and white across the smooth shaven lawn. 

Everything was still. The “owl” no longer 
hooted. His coming and going had disturbed 
no one, nor had Juliet's flitting made any 
stir. Brawny-armed, timid-hearted Ann down 
in the bedroom off the kitchen still snored mu- 
sically, blissfully unconscious that the back 
door was unlocked, “ready for any burglar 
man to creep in and carry her off unbe- 
knownst.” 

Ann was always afraid of being “carried 
off;” but, being nearly two hundred pounds in 
weight, to say nothing of a temper equal to a 
whole regiment, and a voice that could drown 
the sound made by a street piano or a steam 
calliope, we would be inclined to extend our 
sympathy to the individual who would perform 
the task. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


215 


Sarah Dakota was not sleeping. * She had not 
closed her eyes since Juliet had pattered those 
soft kisses down on her cheeks. She lay 
there staring at the dark shadows and silvery 
moonlight, worrying with all the energy of her 
impetuous little soul. 

“0, dear!” she exclaimed, as she turned 
over her hot pillow; “0, dear! what shall I 
do? Just as soon as I try to be good I have 
bother and perplexity. Madame Pinkeray said 
the other day to ‘beware of the seemingly 
neutral gray that lies between the white of right 
and the black of wrong.’ That’s just where I 
seem to be standing now. It is so hard to 
know just what is right. It seems surely wrong 
to keep this thing away from the aunties and 
Madame. They have been good to me and 
good to Juliet too. They would feel very 
much worried if they were to know what she 
has done. 0, it isn't right of her to act so ! 
I don’t like the set of young folks she’s v/ith. 
They’re not really bad, but wild and careless, 
and I don’t believe any of them would take 
it to heart if she were expelled from school. 

“Juliet hasn’t been very kind to me. She 
has laughed at me and sneered at me, and set 
some of the other girls to doing it too. I've 


216 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


been so angry sometimes that I would have 
done almost anything to have revenge, but now 
that I’ve got a chance, somehow I don't feel 
like taking it. I don't believe that revenge 
pays. Pappy used to say that 4 it was a gun 
that kicked both ways.' I don't believe I'd be 
any happier or feel a bit more comfortable if I 
were to tell what Jule has done. O, I really 
hoped she wouldn’t go ! She’s broken her 
promise, and if she's done it once she'll do it 
again. One can never depend on her. 
Heigh-ho ! I presume she’s having a lovely 
time. I'd like to go to a party, but” — re- 
flectively — “ I wouldn’t like to go the way she 
has done — sly and mean like a thief ! What 
shall I do? It seems as though the aunties and 
Madame ought to know, and yet I can't tell 
them — I can’t. It would be mean. Juliet 
would say I did it to spite her. She’d hate 
me and, maybe, I’d hate myself. At any rate 
I’m not going to let her think that I am a tell- 
tale!” And, saying the hateful word over and 
over again, Sarah Dakota tossed on her bed 
while the black shades of night softened into 
the gray ones of early dawn, and not until then 
did slumber seal her eyelids. 

When she opened them again the sun was 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


217 


streaming brightly into the room, and the tinkle 
of the breakfast bell was heard throughout the 
halls. At first Sarah Dakota was inclined to 
believe that the events of the past night were 
all a dream, for there, standing before the mir- 
ror, dressed in her pretty pink flannel morning 
gown, with a bunch of sweet peas in her belt, 
stood Juliet, as fresh and gay as though she 
had had a long night’s rest. She uttered a 
loud, ringing laugh at the sight of her cousin's 
mystified face. 

“Got ahead of you, after all, haven’t I?" 
Juliet exclaimed. “Better hurry up and dress, 
or folks'll think you're the one who has been 
hearing a ‘sound of revelry by night.’ " 

“But did you really go — and get back all 
right?” 

“I really did. It was just daybreak when 
I crept in. Everything looked so ghostly that 
I had the shivers. The stars had faded away 
and everything was white mist and gray shad- 
ows, and I was cold and tired — dreadfully 
tired. Danced nearly every set. Well, I got 
in the house all right ; crept in at the back door 
and locked it. I happened to drop my fan, 
though, and I was awfully afraid Ann would 
hear me. She did, too, and I heard her floun- 


218 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


der around on her creaky bed and mutter: 

‘ Seems to me that ’ere alarum clock goes off 
orful early. There’s no dapendin’ on the 
crathur, an’ shure it’s mesilf that’ll have a bit 
av a nap afore gettin’ up to loight the foire.’ 

“ It was hard work to keep from laughing 
out loud, but I did it and managed to get up 
here all right. I found you asleep, so I un- 
dressed and lay down and had forty winks, 
and when I awoke at the rising bell I felt 
real rested.” 

‘‘And did you have a nice time?” 

Juliet’s face clouded a little. 

“Yes — n — yes. That is, the ride was all 
well enough, so lovely and romantic in the 
moonlight ! We had a little delay on the way; 
something broke on the wagon or a bolt was 
lost, and we had to stop at Mr. Armstrong’s, 
the blacksmith by the Corners, to get it fixed.” 
Juliet still looked sober. Then she continued 
in a cross tone : ‘ ‘ The music and refreshments 
at the Springs were fine, but I didn’t have quite 
as good a time as I had expected. You see, 
Eulalie had invited those Sampson girls. They 
don’t go to our school, and are not in our set 
at all. I like fun and lively times, but I 
wouldn't be as coarse as those girls for any- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


219 


thing. Why, Malvina, the elder one, swore. 
It’s dreadfully ill-bred to do that!” And 
Juliet’s nose took an upward curve. Evi- 
dently she thought less of the sin than of the 
vulgarity. 

“Those Sampsons,” she continued, “wanted 
to be friendly right away. Such familiarity I 
never did see ! They called me ‘ Jule ’ the 
first thing, instead of saying ‘ Miss Van Dorn!’ 
And they laughed and joked me about the way 
I left Bonnybrook Hall, and they borrowed my 
hairpins and swabbed into my powder-puff box 
and put their arms around my waist and hinted 
over and over again that they would soon come 
and spend some Saturday at the farm. My! 
I wonder what Aunt Katrinka would say ? ’ ’ 

“ I guess she would remind you of the story 
of ‘ Old Dog Tray ’ getting into bad com- 
pany!” said Sarah Dakota, with a little laugh 
that hadn’t much heart in it. “ If you hadn't 
gone last evening, you need never to have any- 
thing to do with those Sampsons.” 

“0, if you’re going to begin to preach!” 
Juliet exclaimed, petulantly, “ I’ll run down 
stairs to breakfast. It’s time, anyway, for 
the bell’s stopped ringing. You’d better hurry, 
too, or you’ll get a black mark.” And smooth- 


220 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


ing down her pink ribbon bows and humming 
an airy waltz, Juliet hurried from the room. 

Sarah Dakota dressed rather languidly. 
Somehow everything seemed to go wrong. 
Buttons flew off, hooks and eyes were contrary, 
the pincushion was empty. Juliet had used so 
much water the night before as well as this 
morning that her cousin had to run to the bath- 
room to replenish the pitcher. 

All these things combined made her very late 
when she entered the dining room. The meal 
was nearly finished, and Madame Pinkeray’s 
face wore an expression of vexation as she saw 
the late comer. When the scholars were filing 
out of the room she spoke a kind, quiet reproof, 
and felt surprised and grieved at the sullen ex- 
pression that came over Sarah Dakota's face. 

“Isn’t your cousin feeling well this morn- 
ing ? " she inquired of Juliet a little later. 

“ Yes’m. That is, I guess so. She was a 
little restless last night. Sat up late studying. 
You know Sarah Dakota's so ambitious lately," 
Juliet answered sweetly. 

Sarah Dakota’s quick ears caught the words. 
The frown on her face deepened into a genuine 
scowl. 

“ Humph!" she exclaimed, as she went lan- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


221 

guidly up the long stairs. “I guess if Ma- 
dame knew what made me restless last night, I 
don't believe that she’d smile down on Juliet in 
that benign way. She’d have more to worry 
about, too, than seeing one of her pupils come 
in late to breakfast. I can stand being scolded 
when I deserve it, but this time I don’t, and 
besides can’t stop to explain!” 

Madame Pinkeray soon did have something 
to worry about besides lack of punctuality at 
meals. 

The following day was the one on which she 
held her weekly receptions. She was rather 
surprised to find among her callers a woman 
whose acquaintance she did not in the least de- 
sire. 

This was Mrs. Elihu W. Sampson, the 
mother of the two girls who had been of the 
party at the Springs and whom Juliet had men- 
tioned so disparagingly. 

About the only commendatory thing one 
could say about Mrs. Sampson was, that she 
had once been a hard-working servant girl. 
She and her husband had acquired sudden 
wealth, and were, we regret to say, not making 
the best use of it. Without taste, education, 
or refinement, they were arrogant, purse-proud, 


222 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


and vulgar, thinking of nothing but lavish dis- 
play. Mrs. Sampson's greatest ambition was 
to enter the small, select society of the county 
town, but she failed to win the position she 
might have won by modest worth and the keep- 
ing of her own self-respect. She pushed, 
crowded, and struggled, and was so supercilious 
toward poor people that every sensible person 
was disgusted, and to her anger and disappoint- 
ment she found herself outside the circle of the 
aristocrats. 

She had made a great effort to have her 
daughters become pupils of Madame Pinkeray, 
but that lady, with far-sighted wisdom, knew 
that the presence of two vulgar girls of wild, if 
not vicious, traits could not but be injurious to 
the reputation of her establishment. So the 
proposition so patronizingly made by the am- 
bitious mother was politely declined. 

It cannot be denied that Madame Pinkeray 
did her best to avoid giving offense by her re- 
fusal. She said that the number of her pupils 
was limited, and that the school was now full, 
which was really the case. 

But Mrs. Sampson felt herself mortally 
insulted. She stormed and blustered and made 
herself ridiculous, and when she found that all 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


223 


these things were of no avail, she became sul- 
lenly silent, and as she expressed it to her hus- 
band, she’d “wait, and the time would come 
when that stuck-up school-ma’am would feel 
that she’d made a mistake in not taking two as 
pretty, well-dressed, and well-paying girls as 
there was in the hull Mohawk valley.” 

And now, when these same girls reported to 
the wrathful mother that Juliet Van Dorn, one 
of Madame Pinkeray's most aristocratic schol- 
ars, had gone clandestinely to a midnight party, 
she was filled with malicious glee. 

She dressed herself in a gorgeous attire of 
ruby satin and velvet, with bugle trimming that 
jingled in long fringe, and a broad girdle of the 
same around her ample waist that glistened 
like a cuirass. Indeed, she felt like a warrior 
eager for the fray, and when she swept into 
Madame Pinkeray’s pleasant parlors, not one of 
the gentle, well-bred ladies had a bearing as 
lofty as hers. 

When the crowd was thickest around her 
hostess she pushed through it, saying in her 
loud, uncultivated tones, 

“ I see, Madame Pinkeray, that you’ve come 
down a peg in your high idees about keepin’ 
your scholars strict and close like nuns in a nun- 


224 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


nery or monks in a monkery — or whatever they 
call a monk house ! I knowed it wouldn’t 
ever pay! Young folks’ll be young folks, an’ 
if you draw the cord too tight, they’ll up an’ 
bust it. Why, I used to like to carry on when I 
was young — I’d go to every party and hop I 
could git to. And when my girls told me about 
her, I said I didn’t blame her one bit ! Te-he ! ’ ’ 

A puzzled and annoyed expression flashed 
over Madame Pinkeray’s face. 

“About her? whom do you mean?” she 
asked, in a quick, low voice. 

“Why, don’t you know? Fur the land 
sakes!” — and Mrs. Sampson’s enjoyment in- 
creased tenfold. “ Why one of your girls was 
at- the hop over to the Springs a night or two 
ago. She was the liveliest of the hull lot! 
Danced every set, my girls said. My! she 
must have ben real cute to have slipped away 
without your knowin’ it — an’ you so strict. ‘ My 
land!’ I says to Elihu W., my man, says I, 
4 If girls act that way at Madame Pinkeray’s, 
as strict as she is, why there’d be no trustin’ on 
’em anywheres !’” Here a whole tide of 
giggles ran over Mrs. Sampson, making the 
bugle fringe and passementerie belt jingle and 
flash more than ever. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


225 


‘ ‘ Do you assert that one of my pupils was at 
the hop the other evening ? ” — and Madame’s 
face was white and stern. 

“ Yes ma’am/’ placidly chewing her gum. 

“ Who was it, pray ? ” — drawing her aside. 

“Well, now really, I hate to tell if it’s goin’ 
to git the girl into trouble! Young folks’ll be 
young folks, as I said before. The girl be- 
haved herself, only she was happy and lively, 
of course, which wa'n’t out of the way, ’s I 
can see ! My Malviny and Algeriny said she 
seemed to enjoy herself. But what surprised 
me was that you let her go, — or that she’d got 
away from your very strict establishment!” — 
and again the bugle fringe trembled convul- 
sively. 

“But who was it?” — and this time Ma- 
dame ’s tone was full of impatience. 

“Well, if you must know, it was one of 
your favorite pupils; that is, she belongs to one 
of our most aristocratic famblies. It was Miss 
Katrinka Van Dorn’s niece.” 

Madame was silent for an instant and then 
she asked, quietly, 

“Which one ? Miss Katrinka has two 
nieces.” 

“Has she? The girls didn’t say. 

15 


She had 


226 SARAH DAKOTA. 

kind of an odd name — seems to me I've seen it 
in a book. Maybe you could tell me which girl 
it was if I was to tell you what kind of clothes 
she wore. I didn’t see her dress, for they 
didn’t get out at our house. The wagon 
stopped only long enough to let my girls get 
on. But I went out to the gate and I seen by the 
lantern that she was real pretty, with fair skin, 
and she had on a long blue cape with white bor- 
der and ball fringe.” 

“Sarah Dakota!” was Madame's mental 
exclamation, and then she added aloud, speak- 
ing composedly now and with a dignity that 
seemed suddenly to subdue her loquacious 
visitor : 

“I am extremely obliged to you for your 
information. I will investigate the matter at 
once. Doubtless there has been some mistake. 
But have you had aay refreshment, Mrs. Samp- 
son? Pray step over to the table and Miss 
Beach will serve you. Do take a cup of 
bouillon or an ice.” 

“Bouillon! That’s a kind of soup, ain’t 
it?” soliloquized Mrs. Sampson, as she wad- 
dled away from her hostess. “I thought all 
the while that was black tea they had in them 
cups. I never heard of putting soup in cups 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


227 


afore. That must be a new wrinkle. I'll re- 
member to tell the girls the next time they have 
any doin’s. Learned something by coming, 
anyhow.” Then, with another giggle, as she 
took the cup of bouillon in her large hands, 
which, with their mahogany-colored kids, re- 
minded one of hams, she added : 

“And Madame — she's learned suthin', 
too.” 


228 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


CHAPTER XV. 

UNDER SUSPICION. 

/WIISS KATRINKA’S face had a deeper 
* ’ * tinge of color on it than usual. Her fine 
Roman nose stood out aggressively. Her eyes 
were bright with indignation, and she sat bolt up- 
right in her chair as with an air of grim protest. 

The manner of Madame Pinkeray, who sat 
opposite her, was mild and conciliatory. 

“My dear Miss Van Dorn,” she said, “I 
agree with you that that Sampson woman is not 
a reliable informant. But she was so audacious 
in coming to my reception and so positive in all 
that she said that — well, really” — and Madame 
made a little deprecating gesture with her 
gloved hands — “that I did not know what to 
believe. I considered the matter a little and 
came to the conclusion that the best thing was 
to come and tell you.” 

“I do not believe that Sarah Dakota would 
do such a thing as to leave Bonnybrook Hall in 
a clandestine manner and go to a party over at 
the Springs. She's too honorable!” exclaimed 
Miss Katrinka. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


229 


“ That's so, sister!” tremulously echoed 
Miss Barbara, who sat primly on another chair, 
a troubled expression in her pale blue eyes. 

“ Perhaps Sarah Dakota wouldn’t look at it 
in the light you do,” said Madame Pinkeray. 
“ You have told me yourself that she has had 
scarcely any training until the past few months, 
and being motherless and all that — well, of 
course it is not so heinous an offense. It was 
very wrong and foolish to do such an act, and 
yet one must reflect that a gay, giddy, undisci- 
plined girl might be tempted to do it. Of 
course I appreciate the fact that it was a seri- 
ous breach of my rules.” 

“ But it isn’t like Sarah Dakota,” persisted 
Miss Katrinka. “She is so frank and open in 
all her words and deeds.” 

“Yet she is very fond of pranks.” 

“I know,” and Miss Katrinka’s frown deep- 
ened; “ but she’s never shown any particular 
fancy for balls or beaux. If it were Juliet, 
now — ” 

“0, sister!” — and Miss Barbara looked 
shocked. “Juliet is so refined and well-bred. 
So considerate of the feelings of others, too, 
and I’m sure she wouldn’t think of disobeying 
the rules. O, it could not have been Juliet!” 


230 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“I thought of Juliet,” said Madame Pinke- 
ray, slowly. “ I must own to a feeling of par- 
tiality toward Sarah Dakota. I never, how- 
ever, allow myself to express such a feeling 
toward any of my pupils. I certainly feel 
loath to say anything against her. Juliet is, as 
you say, very ladylike in her manners. She 
seems respectful to her teachers and moderately 
attentive to her studies. I am inclined to think, 
however, from words that I have overheard, 
that she is fond of society and frivolity. 

“ But Mrs. Sampson, I forgot to tell you, 
described the cape the girl wore. It was Sarah 
Dakota’s without doubt. It was the blue one 
with the white trimming; there’s not another 
like it in the school. Then, I remember, on 
the next morning Sarah Dakota acted very 
strangely. She is usually as fresh and gay as 
a lark, but on this particular morning she was 
late at breakfast. She looked pale and dull, 
like one who had been deprived of sleep. 
She didn’t seem her sunny self, either, when I 
reproved her gently for her tardiness. She 
showed a sullen spirit all day ; and for the past 
two days she has had poor recitations and 
really acted — I regret to say it — in a guilty 
manner.” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


231 


“And you have said nothing to her in regard 
to the matter?” 

“Nothing. I thought it wiser to speak first 
to you and Miss Barbara. Perhaps we had 
better wait quietly until further developments. 
Who knows but what the culprit may confess. 
I had hoped — I still hope” — Madame Pinke- 
ray spoke feelingly — “that my girls — everyone 
of them — are endowed with a sense of honor, 
and that though they may be tempted to do 
wrong or act foolishly, yet their better nature 
will not remain inactive forever, but will assert 
itself and cause her who has sinned to make 
honest confession. In the meantime, as I have 
said, suppose we wait. You can study Sarah 
Dakota. She has a deep nature, but I do not 
think a deceitful one. I will wait and think over 
the matter. There will be no school for two 
weeks, you know. There is some repairing to 
be done at Bonnybrook Hall, and so we will 
have this short fall vacation. Communicate 
with me should anything new occur.” 

While this conversation was going on, another 
not less animated was taking place between the 
parties most interested — Juliet and Sarah Da- 
kota. 

It being Saturday and vacation, both were at 


232 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


the Van Dorn farm. Sarah Dakota was com- 
fortably perched up in the elm by the window of 
the “Old Hen.” The foliage of the elm was 
thin now, but every leaf was golden, and the 
sunlight sifting through made a luminous trans- 
parency. Now and then a leaf slowly floated 
down upon the lawn. Sometimes a whole 
shower of them fell from the hickory near 
by, and one caught a glimpse of a red or a 
gray tail as a squirrel whisked up and down the 
limbs. 

Sarah Dakota did not take much interest in 
squirrels just now, for she was reading Ivanhoe 
for the first time. So absorbed was she in the 
trials of Rowena and Rebecca that she paid no 
heed to Juliet calling her until the latter ap- 
peared at the window of the “ Old Hen,” and, 
leaning far out, caught Sarah Dakota by the 
sleeve. 

“Are you deaf or stone blind? I’ve called 
and called and made divers gymnastic motions. 
One has to rally the whole house before you 
answer.” 

Sarah Dakota's eyes left the pages rather re- 
luctantly. She forgot Rowena and Rebecca, 
however, when she saw Juliet’s face — pale and 
frightened. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


233 


“Is anything the matter?” she hastily in- 
quired. 

4 ‘Lots! Do come out of that pokerish old 
tree; I want to say something to you.” 

Sarah Dakota scrambled into the room and 
sat down on a little ottoman near it. 

Juliet had placed herself in the chintz-cush- 
ioned rocking-chair and was rocking vigorously, 
the tip of her russet shoe tapping the floor in a 
nervous manner. 

“There’s somebody downstairs — you can’t 
guess who it is,” she began in a stammering 
way. 

“It’s pappy — father, I mean!” cried her 
cousin, springing up with glowing cheeks. 
‘ * When he last wrote he said he might come 
East this month and bring Mrs. Vandecar with 
him. 0, it is pappy, I know!” 

“Nonsense! Of course it isn’t ! Do sit down. 
It’s nobody that we — that I care to see. It’s 
Madame Pinkeray.” 

“Well, I don’t see anything remarkable in 
her calling. She comes to see the aunties very 
often.” 

“0, I know that!” impatiently. “But 
this time, you see, she comes for a special 
purpose.” 


234 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ Does she ? ” thoughtfully. “ Maybe it’s 
to complain because I haven’t had my lessons 
very well the past week. But I’ve felt out of 
» sorts,” soberly. 

“It isn’t to grumble about lessons ; it’s worse 
than that. See here,” and Juliet drew the 
rocking-chair nearer her cousin. “ I am afraid 
that Madame has come to tell the aunties about 
my going over to the hop at the Springs the 
other night. It’s leaked out somehow. Those 
Sampson girls are to blame, I'm sure. They’ve 
been telling everybody about it. If Madame has 
found it out she’ll make a time. She is so 
very strict. If she writes to papa I don’t know 
what I shall do ! He’ll feel dreadfully, and he 
can be very stern, I know ! He’ll never trust 
me again ! He is so particular about being 
honorable and all that. 0, he’ll be shocked, 
and so ’ll the aunties, at my going off to a party 
without permission. They’ll all think it a dis- 
grace to the Van Dorn name. Perhaps, too, 
I’ll be expelled! 0, dear, what shall I do!” 

“Maybe Madame hasn’t come for that,” 
soothingly. 

“0, but I’m sure she has!” and Juliet 
wrung her white hands. “ I heard her ask 
Thirza Ann if the Misses Van Dorn were in, 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


235 


and if they were, if she could have a few min- 
utes' private conversation with them. And she 
looked very grave and solemn. 0, I never was 
so frightened in all my life ! But I mean to 
keep a stiff upper lip” — here Juliet sat up in 
the chair with a determined air. 4 ‘I’ll never, 
never, never own up that I went to the 
Springs.” 

“Perhaps it would be better to do so,” 
thoughtfully. “I read somewhere, the other 
day — it was Lowell, wasn't it, who wrote it? — 
that there is nothing so safe, strong, and sure, 



as the truth.’ ” 


“0, but you don’t know my father. And 
you don’t know how the aunties would be in a 
case like this. Aunt Katrinka, especially. She 
is so proud of the Van Dorn honor. If I were 
to own up and tell them, they’d despise me. 
They’d never have faith in me again. They 
would always be doubting, and it would be very 
uncomfortable. No, there’s but one way to 
do, to say that I was not there, and stick to 


“ But that — would — be — a — lie,” and Sarah 
Dakota’s hazel eyes were round and reproving. 

44 Well, I can’t help it! There’s nothing 
else to do or say. They can’t prove that it is 


236 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


a lie, only by what the Sampson girls say, and 
I don’t believe that the Madame herself would 
give much credence to them. Ronald wouldn’t 
tell, of course! Poor fellow, he’s awfully 
afraid of the aunties and of Madame too. 
There was such a big crowd at the Springs and 
all were strangers. O, nobody can tell any- 
thing, or will tell anything, I’m sure. But 
you,” turning with an earnest look on her face 
toward Sarah Dakota — “you know I went. It 
rests with you to betray me or not ! Promise 
me you won’t !” 

Sarah Dakota hesitated. Her face flushed, 
and then grew pale. 

“ I don’t want to tell a lie. I — I can’t tell 
a lie !” she began. 

“0, George Washington and the little 
hatchet ! It isn't telling a lie to keep still, is 
it ? That’s all I ask of you.” 

“ Well, if I keep silent, will you promise not 
to get into any more scrapes ? ’ ’ 

“Yes! I’m sure I don’t want to!” Juliet 
groaned. “ I wish I’d kept out of this one!” 
bitterly. 

“ And will you promise to have nothing 
more to do with that Ronald — I can’t bother 
with the rest of his name. Not to take any 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


237 


bonbons or bouquets or notes from him ? ’ * 
said Sarah Dakota, rather severely, for she was 
cognizant of many little gifts recently smuggled 
into Bonnybrook Hall. 

‘ ‘ O yes ! ’ ’ impatiently, and then she added 
reflectively, “ And really, little Indian, I don’t 
care so much about them. His flowers are al- 
most always wilted, and the bonbons are as stale 
as can be. I should think” — with a curl of her 
lip — “I should think that Ronald would know 
that I wouldn’t touch candy that wasn’t at 
least fifty cents a pound. 0 yes, I’d just as 
soon give him the go-by as not!” 

“ And if I write a note, telling him that you 
don’t care for his attentions, will you sign it ? ” 

“ Yes ! Only hurry and promise that you’ll 
stand by me and won’t tell a soul about my trip 
to the Springs ! Promise !” — here Juliet clutched 
her cousin nervously, for there were footsteps 
in the hall outside — “ Promise ! I hear some- 
body coming! It’s Thirza Ann, I guess. The 
aunties have sent for me to come down.” 

And Sarah Dakota promised in low but sin- 
cere tones. 

But the message was not for Juliet. Strange 
to say, it was Sarah Dakota whose presence 
was required in the parlor. 


238 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


She left the “ Old Hen ” with Juliet’s words, 
half tearful, half imperative, ringing in her ears 
— “No matter what they say, don’t betray 
me!” 

She went slowly down the stairs, dragging 
her feet wearily after her. The promise already 
seemed like shackles that she could not thrust 
off and that would bring her disgrace and sor- 
row. She dreaded the coming interview. She 
felt that it portended ill to her. She was in that 
unpleasant position in which we sometimes find 
ourselves, when our vision is blurred as to what 
is right and what is wrong, a position where 
right seems mean and wrong wears the garb of 
virtue and honor. 

Puzzled and perplexed she entered the par- 
lor, and her awkward manner and downcast face 
were those of a culprit. 

And although the three ladies meant to be 
kind, yet never before had Madame been so 
stately, Miss Katrinka so dignified, or Miss Bar- 
bara so prim. At least, that is the way Sarah 
Dakota was impressed as she stood before them, 
nervously fingering the ribbon rosette of her belt. 

We will not go over the gentle, dexterous 
way in which Madame Pinkeray began her lead- 
ing interrogatories, or how the little Westerner 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


239 


strove to evade them. When at last it came to 
the direct question — had she gone to the 
Springs? — Sarah Dakota gave such a plump, 
round no , that it seemed almost like the defi- 
ance of falsehood. 

Further inquiries elicited nothing but this 
sentence, repeated over and over again with 
sullen emphasis. 

“ I do not care to say anything more.” 

“But will you not explain — not defend your- 
self, my child? ” said Aunt Katrinka, and the 
tips of her cheek bones were very red, for the 
Van Dorn pride was seriously wounded. 

“ I do not care to say anything more,” came 
the steady answer, and Sarah Dakota's eyes 
were very bright now, for she had succeeded in 
winking back the tears. 

Madame Pinkeray rose with a disappointed 
air. 

“ I have always determined,” she said, as 
Sarah Dakota, being dismissed, left the room — 
“ I have always thought that should such a 
case occur as one of my pupils clandestinely 
leaving my establishment, that pupil should be 
expelled. But there is some mystery about 
this case. Aside from my friendship for you 
and yours, I feel that I ought to wait with my 


240 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


decision until further developments. It is all 
very strange. One thing is proven, however" — 
and Madame’s face was serious — “ and that is, 
that one of my pupils did attend the hop at the 
Springs. Sarah Dakota does not deny that 
her blue cloak was worn. She does not 
deny many things, unless silence means denial, 
which ordinarily it does not. But she denies 
that she went to the hop." 

‘ ‘ Perhaps if she is guilty, such denial 
would be natural," said Miss Katrinka, slowly. 
“That is a pivotal question. 0, dear! I did 
think the child was honorable ! * * 

“And so have I thought so ! And, my dear 
Katrinka, I cannot tell why it is so, but some- 
how, since this interview, I feel less inclined to 
think her the true culprit." 

“And I feel more so," sadly said Miss 
Katrinka, while Miss Barbara murmured, 

“And I, too! It’s all inexplicable." 

* ‘ I presume I might find out more by ques- 
tioning the Sampson girls," continued Madame, 
“ but I do not care to do that. I think the 
best way is, as I have said — leave things as they 
are for the present, and perhaps new develop- 
ments may be forthcoming. ‘ Truth crushed to 
earth shall rise again/ you know." 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


241 


“Yes,” rejoined Miss Katrinka, and she 
added in a grimly humorous way, “Yes, but as 
somebody has said, ‘ Truth crushed to earth 
shall rise again, but it never rises with the same 
cheerful alacrity that error has.’ ” 

“Well, we must have patience,” said Mad- 
ame, with a thoughtful look in her brown eyes. 

“ Meanwhile, poor Sarah Dakota must be 
under a ban,” remarked Miss Katrinka, as 
she closed the door after her visitor. 

Sarah Dakota, sitting in the little alcove by 
the landing of the stairway, heard the words. 

“ Yes, I am under a ban,” she said to her- 
self, and her voice sounded dry and hard. 
* ‘ What has all my trying to be good amounted 
to ? Everybody is ready to believe anything 
against me ! I almost wish I had told them it 
was Juliet. I wonder if they would have 
believed it ? Perhaps they'd only think I said so 
because I was jealous of Juliet for being pretty 
and graceful and all that. I shouldn’t like to be 
thought mean and spiteful. O, dear ! how very 
strange things are in this world,” and Sarah 
Dakota wearily entered the “ Old Hen” again. 

Juliet was still there, crouched down among 
the chair cushions. She turned a pale, tear- 
stained face toward her cousin. 

16 


242 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“0, what did Madame want? Tell me, 
wasn’t it about the going to the Springs?” 
she whispered. 

“ Yes,” was the sober answer. 

“ Really!” with a burst of tears. “0, what 
did she say ? What do they think ? — she and 
the aunties ? ’ ’ 

“ They said a good deal — questions mostly. 
As for thinking — well, they think it was I ” — 
in a cold, dry tone. 

Surprise, incredulity, and then relief over- 
spread Juliet’s face. She sat up in the rocking- 
chair and began to smooth out her tumbled 
frizzes. 

“0!” she exclaimed, and, as little Garde 
would have remarked, “ It was an ‘ O ’ without 
any sorry in it.’ 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE PRAYER MEETING. 

C ARAH DAKOTA was looking for her 
gloves. She had mislaid them. She had, 
I am sorry to say, a chronic habit of mislaying 
things — gloves especially. Perhaps it was be- 
cause she was not accustomed to wearing them. 
She had worn them lately, however, because 
Aunt Barbara wanted her to. Aunt Barbara 
was very particular about her own hands. 
They were soft and white and smooth, and the 
nails were almond-shaped and tinted a delicate 
pink. She was always oiling them with glycer- 
ine or vaseline, putting lemon juice on them, or 
washing them in bran-water, and she wore 
gloves whenever she had a chance. 

Thus Sarah Dakota, who sincerely desired to 
please her aunties, began to cover her little 
brown fingers whenever she went out for a 
stroll. She was going down to the post office 
now. She had her sun-hat on her head, her 
parasol in her hand, but her gloves were miss- 
ing. As it happened, it was Aunt Barbara 
who found them. 


244 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


‘ ‘ Here they are on the window seat, ' ’ she 
called out. 

“ 0 yes, thank you!” said Sarah Dakota. 
“I remember now, I left them there with my 
handkerchief when I went up stairs to get my 
umbrella.’ ’ 

Her cheeks were flushed and her manner 
flurried. 

Aunt Katrinka’s eyes were full of grieved sur- 
prise. For she had seen, in the search for the 
gloves, a white envelope lying half concealed 
by the dainty handkerchief, an envelope bearing 
the name “ Ronald Woodington De Ruyter.” 

‘‘Is it possible that she is corresponding 
with the silly fellow of whom Madame Pinkeray 
spoke — one of the party who went to the 
Springs? Really, I shall have to speak to Ros- 

> t 

coe. 

And just here we may say that when Uncle 
Roscoe was informed, he at once instituted a 
search for Mr. Ronald Woodington De Ruyter, 
and, finding him engaged in the laborious 
occupation of smoking cigarettes and lounging 
on the piazza of a second-class boarding house, 
used such strong and forcible language in re- 
gard to desist from ever “ paying any attentions 
to, or having any communications with, my 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


245 


niece, sir,” that the young gentleman trem- 
blingly made all promises demanded without 
evenasking which “niece” was alluded to. 
Thus again Juliet passed ^unchallenged and 
Sarah Dakota was blamed. 

At the time of which we speak, however, the 
girl herself was hurrying down the road. She 
held the envelope as if it were hot. “ I 
hate to touch it even,” she said, scornfully, 
“ because it’s got his name on it. And yet I 
am so glad that Juliet consented to send it. I 
guess,” with a laugh, “ I guess that goose 'll 
find out that girls with Van Dorn blood in them 
aren’t as silly as he thinks they are. ‘ Politely 
requests him to abstain in the future from send- 
ing any presents, and does not wish any corres- 
pondence whatever.’ Hum! I think I put it 
pretty strong. I guess Miss Beach wouldn’t 
think my rhetoric ambiguous or equivocal or 
any of these things. The meaning is plain 
enough, and Ronald won’t feel very flattered 
by it. I was afraid at first that Juliet would 
back out and not sign it. She actually began 
to sniffle a little, and then I was cute enough to 
speak about the bonbons being stale, and then 
she flared up and grabbed the pen. Humph! 
I guess Ronald won’t bother her any more. 


246 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


She’s left awfully nervous over this affair — 
about the hop at the Springs, I mean. She's 
cried and cried until she had the headache. 
She’s been different to me, though. Not 
teased me any, but has actually seemed to care 
for me a little. Last night she hugged me and 
said I was awfully good to keep still and take 
the blame. Everybody seems to act toward me 
as if I had been stealing sheep. 

“ The aunties are kind, but so grave and sol- 
emn, and I feel that their eyes are on me all the 
while, criticising me, and I know they are won- 
dering how I can be so depraved a creature. O 
dear! it’s pretty hard!” and Sarah Dakota 
sighed so loudly that an old red and white cow 
cropping the grass along the road looked up 
in surprise and stopped chewing her cud. 

Sarah Dakota looked at the cow. 

“ I almost envy you, you great, big beast,” 
she exclaimed. “You don't have any worry 
at all. You munch and munch, and craunch 
and craunch, and sleep and chew, and chew and 
sleep. You don’t have to learn any lessons or 
parse in Paradise Lost , or be scolded by 
teachers, and you don’t have to stop and con- 
sider what is right and what is wrong. And 
your aunt, if you have any, doesn’t think 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


247 


you’re worse than you really are. 0, an easy 
time you have, old Bossy ! ” 

A boyish laugh on the other side of the fence 
caused the cow to lumber hastily away and 
Sarah Dakota to glance up in surprise. Guy’s 
face, rosier now, and clearer-eyed, peered over 
the rails. Then with a nimble leap, over he 
sprang, and, with hands in his jacket, 
walked along beside his cousin. 

44 What on earth are you spouting about to 
that old bovine?” he asked merrily. “I 
thought you were regaling her with 4 Horatius 
at the Bridge ’ or 4 The Charge of the Light 
Brigade,’ or something.” 

“ I was only relieving my feelings a little,” 
with a sober smile. Guy glanced at her face. 

“Your feelings, eh? They haven’t been 
right lately, have they?” 

The point of his cousin’s umbrella sent a 
pebble spinning down the road. 

44 Everybody has their worries — 0, that’s 
dreadful grammar, isn’t it ? I mean every- 
body has his — her — worries,” evasively. 

44 Well, but what are your particular ones ? 
You’ve got something on your mind, I know. 
I’ve seen you go around on the sly with eyes 
as red as — as peeled onions.” 


248 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ Why didn’t you say as red as my hair? ” 
laughing. 

“ Well, as red as your hair, then. But the 
fact is, you’ve been crying lots of times. 
Then you act queerly ! Sometimes you are in 
a perfect gale and romp with Garde so that a 
fellow can’t hear himself think, and then you’re 
as blue as indigo and mope in a corner for hours 
at a time. Juliet’s cranky, the aunties solemn, 
and vacation’s here, and we’re not having a 
good time at all ! ” 

“It isn’t my fault,” Sarah Dakota began, 
and then she stopped, biting her lips. 

“Whose fault is it?” Guy persisted. 
“ Come and tell me what is the matter. Maybe 
I can help you.” 

“ No, you can’t, and I wish you wouldn’t say 
a word about it. I can’t tell you anything. 
I’ve got to bear it alone. Nobody can help 
me — nobody at all,” this last a little bitterly. 

The two walked on in silence for a few 
minutes, and then Guy said awkwardly, “You 
said nobody. You forget — there’s — God, you 
remember,” and without waiting for reply he 
turned and ran away toward the ball ground 
near the edge of the village. 

“ There s God, you remember /” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


249 


Sarah Dakota kept saying the words over 
and over again. Somehow they seemed to 
bring a certain comfort. 

“ Perhaps it would have been better if I had 
thought more about God's help. Essie told me 
that we could go to him with all our troubles 
and worries. And I’ve heard the aunties say 
so, too. But I haven't thought much about 
praying lately. I have been so angry at times 
and so grieved at others, and I’ve felt that 
everybody was against me. Then I’ve had 
this trouble come when I was just beginning to 
try to be good, and — well, I haven't thought 
much about God at all,” and there was a 
troubled tone in the girl's voice. 

She mailed the letter to Ronald Woodington 
De Ruyter and started to return home. 

It was a little after sunset and the western sky 
was still aflame. The twilight was deepening in 
soft gray and brown shadows over the * ‘ flats ’ ’ 
and purple ones on the hills, save that on the 
hill-tops there were silvery gleams and pink 
flushes from the sunset. The air was crisp and 
cool. There would be no frost, however, for 
the fall crickets were chirping loudly, and their 
monotonous ‘ ‘ Hurry, hurry ! ' ' was never heard 
when it is going to be very cold. 


250 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


The sidewalks were covered with fallen leaves 
which made a carpet of varied tints — scarlet, 
yellow, brown, crimson, and copper. It was 
pleasant to rustle one’s feet among them. 

‘ « What a sight those leaves would be out 
West,” said Sarah Dakota, “ and if one of our 
breezes should get hold of them, what a scurry- 
ing there would be over the prairies.” 

There was a great pile of the leaves by the 
steps of the little village chapel. The sexton 
had been sweeping them away. He had laid 
aside his broom now and was in the chapel, 
lighting the lamps for the weekly prayer meet- 
ing. 

Sarah Dakota peeped inside. She saw a 
small, plainly-furnished room with rows of 
settees, a desk, and a few chairs. It looked 
pleasant and inviting, however, for the bare floor 
was brightened here and there by strips of red 
and green carpet ; there was a vase of flowers 
on the little stand — white and pink chrysan- 
themums. There was a mellow light through- 
out the room, for the lamps were clean and 
well-kept. A fire crackled cheerily in the tall 
stove and the pleasant, resinous smell of pine 
kindlings was wafted out, as of home and 
hearth incense. 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


251 


“ I’ve never been in a prayer meeting/’ 
thought the little Westerner. “ I wonder what 
it is like. Juliet went with Aunt Barbara once, 
and she said she was bored to death ! It was 
close and stuffy, the minister was dull, and the 
speakers kept saying the same things, and the 
organ wheezed, and Juliet said she never 
wanted to go again. But maybe it wasn’t as 
stupid as she said — Juliet always criticises so ! 
At any rate, some folks go steadily and seem 
to like it. There’s Aunt Barbara, now, she’s 
never so nice as when she comes back from 
prayer meeting ! She always says ‘ my dear ’ 
oftener to me then, and she is just as kind and 
pleasant as can be, and her eyes shine, and she 
seems as though she'd had some help and good 
cheer given her. I wonder if I could be 
helped that way if I were to stay this evening. 
If there was only somebody going in whom I 
knew. I’m a stranger, and I suppose every- 
body’ d stare if I went in alone. Why-ee, if 
there isn’t Essie Hendricks coming up the 
walk. Just as like as not she’s going to prayer 
meeting.” 

Miss Hendricks’s dark eyes shone with 
pleasure as she saw Sarah Dakota loitering near 
the door of the chapel. 


252 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ So glad you came,” she said in a cheery, 
matter-of-fact way, just as if it was the most 
natural thing in the world that Sarah Dakota 
should be there, and, slipping her hand within 
the girl’s arm, she led her into the warm, 
well-lighted chapel. 

Presently somebody began playing the organ, 
which didn’t wheeze so badly after all, and 
the congregation rose and sang a hymn so sweet 
and familiar that Sarah Dakota found herself 
joining in. Then there was a chapter read; it 
was in the Epistle of John, about the Father’s 
love, and it seemed to come very near to Sarah 
Dakota’s aching heart. She had felt so 
alone, so among strangers, so unutterably des- 
olate. She was misjudged and condemned. 
O, it was very sweet to have the consciousness 
come to her of the very presence of One who 
was full of tenderness and compassion. 

It was an old minister who read, prayed, and 
talked. He had seen his best days, so some 
of his parishioners thought. He was not very 
stylish in dress or words. He had a quaint, 
old-fashioned pronunciation, and a slow way of 
bringing out his words. He seemed to weigh 
each one to be sure it was right, as if he 
realized a responsibility in bringing the truth 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


253 


just as it should be brought before his hearers. 
He was not at all flowery. If Sarah Dakota 
had been thinking of her rhetoric just then she 
would have noticed very few elaborate figures 
of speech. His chief aim seemed to be to 
bring out the thought of God’s love toward all 
things. The minister’s face showed that he 
believed what he preached ; the very tone of 
his voice proved it. And yet his words seemed 
wasted on many of his hearers. Some dozed, 
others brooded on their own particular affairs, 
their daily joys and sorrows, profit and loss, 
and business and bonnets filled the minds of 
many. Thus the precious words spoken were 
like seed sown on thorny ground. And at the 
close of the meeting there was discouragement 
in the old minister’s heart, and, like many 
another worker for the Master, he felt that his 
work was thrown away, that he was accom- 
plishing nothing, and that his life had been a 
failure. But like many another worker, the 
knowledge of success was to be kept from him 
until it should be revealed among the many 
glorious things and beautiful things that are 
prepared for those that love the Lord. 

There was one among his hearers that 
evening to whom the knowledge of saving 


254 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


grace came with wondrous power. Peace such 
as she had never dreamed of filled Sarah Da- 
kota’s heart. She was no longer homeless, 
friendless, misjudged. Christ was her Friend — 
he would help her bear all burdens even as he 
had forgiven her sins. She need not feel alone 
now. She need not feel weary, angry, or re- 
vengeful. She would be patient and abide her 
time, and things would all turn-out well in the end. 

“ I will do just the best I can and be kind 
and respectful to the aunties and forgiving to 
Juliet. I cannot tell the aunties what she has 
done — I promised her I would not betray her. 
I really don’t know whether I ought to tell or 
not — perhaps it is just as well to keep still. 
The truth will come out some time, I know. 
At any rate, I know I’m not to blame, and, as 
the minister said a little while ago, it is better 
to suffer wrong than to do wrong.” 

And Essie Hendricks, who sat beside her 
with the silver cross at her whitfc throat, won- 
dered at the sweet peace in the countenance of 
her friend, wondered with great joy in her 
heart. 

And, as the two walked down the quiet vil- 
lage street, their talk was earnest, true, and 
womanly. 0, girls who read this, believe me, 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


255 


life means something to every one of you. Be 
happy with an honest happiness — a happiness 
that is bright, true, and wholesome, like the 
sunshine; but do not be frivolous, spending 
your time in utter nonsense. Enjoy pretty 
dresses and merrymaking, but above all these, 
place a high ideal toward which you strive. 
Think of this sometimes, talk about it among 
yourselves, 

“And so make Life, Death, and the great Forever 
One grand, sweet song.” 

Christ has been and is woman’s truest friend. 
And so he is a girl’s truest friend. He is more 
than father or mother, brother or lover. As the 
years roll by there may come a time when those 
nearest you may fail to appreciate your best 
efforts, misunderstand your best motives, and at 
such times, if Christ has been your guide, he 
will be your stay and comfort. 

Sarah Dakota felt this now and she went 
home to the Van Dorn farm with a strange, 
new delight in her girlish heart. 

And as little Garde climbed up into her lap, 
telling her how he had winked and winked so 
that he wouldn’t go to sleep before she came, 
he added, “And your eyes shine as though 
you had been looking up into the stars and all 


256 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


the fluffy little clouds around them had changed 
into angels.” 

Aunt Katrinka, who was inclined to scold 
because Sarah had stayed out so late, changed 
her mind when, in answer to inquiries the girl 
said in a low voice, with a touch of shyness in it, 
“ I met Essie Hendricks, and — and we went to 
the chapel. It was prayer meeting night.” 

“So it was,” said Aunt Katrinka, much 
mollified. “I wanted to go myself, but Mr. 
Longstay came in for a call, and I hesitated 
about excusing myself. * ’ Then, as Sarah Dakota 
went up the stair with little Garde, she remarked 
to Miss Barbara, “ I’ve never seen the child 
look so happy since she’s been here. Sarah 
Dakota, I mean. I’m surprised and delighted 
that she went with Essie Hendricks. It is won- 
derful what one girl — a true ‘ King’s Daughter’ 
can do if she tries. No matter what folly Sarah 
Dakota has committed, I feel certain that there 
is sterling worth in her.” 

“ That’s so, sister,” said Miss Barbara, and 
then she added, complacently, as she lay on 
the lounge with her white hands folded serenely 
and her eyes fixed on a row of her ancestors’ 
portraits, “And you must remember, Katrinka, 
that she has genuine Van Dorn blood in her.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

GUY PROBES A MYSTERY. 



UY was up in his den, as his aunts called 


it. It was a cozy little room, with mat- 
ting on the floor, a narrow brass bedstead in 
one corner, bookshelves on the walls, and with 
plenty of space left for cabinets for curiosities, 
of which the boy had a great store. There 
were shells and minerals, corals, seaweeds, 
beetles, bugs, and butterflies, and specimens of 
woods. It was a genuine boy's room — never 
in order, and yet with a peculiar attraction of its 
own. Guy hadn't been in it much of late. 
Somehow the past few months had been given 
to other occupations. He had studied, of 
course — Guy was too much of a bookworm not 
to do that — but there had been lively times 
going on at Van Dorn Farm, and he had been 
drawn into them. 

To-day, however, he was up in his den, ar- 
ranging his specimens and making bad-smell- 
ing chemical experiments — all of which were 
his delight. But just now Guy was thinking 
deeply, earnestly. His hair was pushed back 


17 


258 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


from his forehead, his chin was in the hollow of 
his hand, and his face was very sober. 

“ She’s queer, that girl is ! ” he soliloquized. 
“Sarah Dakota’s queer! I thought before 
she came I shouldn’t like her. I made up my 
mind I wouldn’t. But after a while I couldn’t 
help liking her ; she had so much spunk — the 
right kind, I mean. And she could ride and 
run and fish and shoot off a gun just as well as 
a boy — better than some boys I know,” think- 
ing of himself. “ She made me nervous at 
first, she was such a romp ; but after a while I 
liked to watch her, and then she coaxed me out 
to play tennis and ball, and I noticed that she 
would never cheat nor lie about the games, and 
it made me ashamed to do it, and after a little 
I got to liking to play with her. One couldn’t 
help it; she was so bright and jolly and honest. 
I began to feel better, too. I used to have 
headaches every day and feel so sleepy and 
tired ; but I don’t now, not one bit, and I 
just enjoy oatmeal and graham at breakfast, 
and Aunt Barbara never thinks of coaxing my 
appetite with pie as she used to. 0,1 tell you, 
Sarah Dakota’s a first-rate girl. She’s got to 
liking books, too. She was a regular igno- 
ramus when she came, and I don’t believe she 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


259 


knew whether Shakespeare lived in England or 
on Cape Cod. She's picked up things awfully 
quick, I must say. Learns easy, and what 
she learns she keeps. Isn’t a bit like Jule, who 
rattles things off in a poll-parrot way. It is 
just splendid to study with Sarah Dakota, when 
she really buckles down to it. But there is 
something the matter with her lately. She’s 
been feeling badly ever since school closed and 
Madame Pinkeray called here and had that 
long chat with the aunties. I wonder if Sarah 
Dakota's got into any scrape. She likes to 
play pranks real well, but I don’t believe she’d 
do anything very rash. She certainly feels 
blue about something. She has had red eyes 
two or three times, and once I heard her crying 
up in the ‘Old Hen.' Juliet was away then, 
and Sarah Dakota was moping up there all day. 
Juliet acts queer, too. She isn’t ‘ blue ' or 
anything like that, but she’s nervous, jumps at 
everything, and she watches Sarah Dakota like 
a cat does a mouse. Juliet’s lively, though; 
never heard her laugh and sing as much as she 
does now, but sometimes she’s cross and snap- 
pish to Garde and bosses Thirzah Ann. I 
wonder what the trouble is. I hope Sarah 
Dakota isn’t to blame. I asked Aunt Katrinka 


260 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


about it once, and she only said, ‘ Tut, tut ! 
I thought boys weren’t inquisitive.’ Well, 
Sarah Dakota’s been a prime cousin. She’s 
helped me in lots of ways. She hates a lie 
like poison,” here Guy colored a little. “ I 
used to fib some, but somehow I can't seem to 
do it now. It makes me feel mean. I don’t 
do any sneaking around the cooky jar now — 
always ask the aunties. Sarah Dakota’s real 
good lately — extra good, I mean. It isn’t in 
a preachy way, but somehow I feel as though 
she were trying to be a Christian. She doesn’t 
say anything about it, though. But I have 
caught her reading her Bible ever so often. 
She goes with that tall, black-eyed girl, Essie 
Hendricks, a great deal. Essie’s one of the 
‘Silver Cross’ girls. Everybody likes her. 
Little Bill Rogers told me that she came and 
sat up all night with his mother the night his 
father died, and stayed and helped the next 
day. She got breakfast and washed and 
dressed the baby — and the Rogers’s baby is 
the dirtiest baby I ever saw ; its dress is always 
sticky with mud, molasses, sour milk, crushed 
cracker crumbs, and greasy chicken drum- 
sticks. But Bill said she washed it sweet and 
clean, and when it cried she walked the floor 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


261 


with it, and his mother thinks she’s the nicest 
young lady that ever breathed, and Bill he 
thinks so, too ! Says he’ll run on errands for 
her for nothing. I’m glad Sarah Dakota goes 
with her. It makes Jule angry, though. I 
heard her tell Sarah Dakota out on the piazza the 
other evening — I was lying on the parlor floor 
by the window — that she supposed that now 
there was ‘ such a David and Jonathan friend- 
ship ’ between her and that Hendricks girl, 
of course her (Juliet’s) affairs would be aired 
all over town. And Sarah Dakota answered 
in a voice that sounded real stern, and said, ‘A 
promise is a promise,’ and that she * wasn’t in 
the habit of revealing other folks’ secrets ; ’ 
and then Jule sniffled a little and tried to hug 
Sarah Dakota, and said she was * the dearest, 
sweetest girl in the world ! ’ I wonder what it 
is all about. There is some mystery. I can’t 
find out what it is. They say women can’t 
keep secrets, but I guess they can, and girls, 
too,” and Guy gave an emphatic tilt to the 
hammock, for by this time he had come out 
into the little balcony by his window. 

It was a cozy place — green and cool in sum- 
mer. And even now the heavy woodbine, 
climbing over the railing, made a dense shade, 


262 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


green no longer, it is true, but very beautiful 
with its shadings of crimson, claret, and 
orange. The luxuriant vine had crept from the 
balcony over the piazza roof in front of Aunt 
Katrinka’s room and made a thick screen. 
And, as Guy lay in his hammock, idly watch- 
ing the fleece of white clouds floating along in 
the autumnal sky, he heard a slight rustling not 
far away. There was a stir among the vines 
on the roof of the piazza. A few yellow and 
crimson leaves floated down. It was not the 
wind that disturbed them, for there was no 
breeze astir. 

Guy caught a glimpse of a pretty blue dress 
among the bright leaves. He leaned over, 
peering through the meshes of the hammock. 

‘ ‘ What in the name of the great horn spoon is 
Juliet Van Dorn doing up there on the top of 
the piazza?” he exclaimed. “I never knew 
her to climb before. Couldn’t get her to step 
up three rounds of the ladder the day we 
picked the Bleeker plums. And she’s always 
calling Sarah Dakota a tomboy. But, I say, 
what’s she doing up there, anyhow ? Now 
she’s crept into Aunt Katrinka’s room. She 
does it as sneaking as though she were a bur- 
glar, too. Well, now, maybe I won’t see 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


263 


what she’s up to,” and swinging himself from 
balcony railing to piazza roof with a dexterity 
that would have been impossible a few months 
before, Guy peered into the vine-covered win- 
dow of Aunt Katrinka's room. 

Yes, it was Juliet who was in there. There 
was no one else with her. The girl stood irres- 
olutely in the middle of the room, flushed and 
breathless, her ears stretched to catch the 
slightest sound. Evidently she did not wish to 
have her presence there known. 

When quite satisfied that no one was near 
her she tiptoed to the little old-fashioned 
bureau, opened the top drawer, uttering a low, 
frightened exclamation when it creaked, and 
took out a pretty inlaid box. Then, thrusting 
her hand in her pocket, she drew out some- 
thing. Guy, watching eagerly, caught a gleam 
of purple sparkles. It was Aunt Katrinka’s 
amethyst necklace ! This was the first oppor- 
tunity Juliet had had of restoring it to its proper 
place. For an instant she held the amethysts 
in her hand, letting the limpid drops slip one 
by one over her white fingers. Covetousness 
was in her gaze. With a little sigh she reluc- 
tantly placed the necklace in the box, closed 
the latter, and put it back in the bureau, and 


264 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


then she turned to leave the room by the way 
she came. 

Suddenly she gave a low, suppressed scream, 
for a shadow darkened the window. There 
was Master Guy perched on the window ledge, 
a most aggravating grin on his face as, in a 
low, teasing tone, he sang : 

“Aunt Jemima climbed a tree. 

No one there to boost her ! 

And there she sat a-firin’ stones 
At our old bob-tailed rooster! ’’ 

“Say, Jule,” he continued, “ never thought 
you could climb ! But you got along the piazza 
roof and into the window with all the agility of 
a Sam Patch ! Added to the mystery of how 
you did it is the mystery of why you did it ! 
There are good broad stairs leading up to Aunt 
Katrinka's room, and she rarely keeps her door 
locked; so if you wanted to carry that gim- 
crack back, why didn't you go that way, instead 
of practicing these astonishing gymnastics. If 
it had been our Western cousin now, the agile 
Sarah Dakota, I wouldn’t have been so sur- 
prised, for she is a veritable monkey for climb- 
ing; but you — an accomplished young lady 
from Gotham! — why, it’s amazing! ” 

Juliet was very pale. " She drew near the 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


265 


window and laid her hand on Guy’s tanned 
wrist. 

‘‘You say you saw what I had in my hand?” 
she asked in a low voice. 

“ I saw Aunt Katrinka’s amethyst necklace, 
if that’s what you mean. It’s funny she let 
you have it, for she’s pretty careful of her 
trinkets; and besides, she doesn’t think it’s 
proper for young girls to wear jewels. Maybe 
she’s made an exception, though, in your 
favor, or — 0 Jule ! I believe you have hooked 
these amethysts without her knowing it ! Now 
haven’t you, honor bright?” and Guy ceased 
swinging his legs like pendulums over the 
window ledge, sat bolt upright, and stared 
fixedly at his cousin, his face wearing mean- 
while an expression of mingled amusement and 
contempt. 

“What if I did?” said Juliet, tartly. 
“There’s no harm done, is there? Your own 
eyes have seen me put them back safe and 
sound — Aunt Katrinka’s amethysts in Aunt 
Katrinka’s box in Aunt Katrinka’s bureau! 
There they are, and there they shall remain ! 
Goodness knows,” with a little choking sob, 
“ I've had enough bother with them ! I don’t 
know how many times I have tried to slip into 


266 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


her room and put them back. Every time 
some one was there, or I heard the stairs creak 
and thought some one was near. To-day Aunt 
Katrinka locked her door because there was a 
washerwoman cleaning the windows at the end 
of the hall. It wasn’t Mrs. O’Brien, who 
usually comes, but a Dennis woman, a stranger 
nobody knew much about, and so the aunties 
thought they’d take some extra precautions. 
Aunt Katrinka couldn’t be up there to watch 
things because she’s helping Aunt Barbara 
make ‘ pear-chip.’ ” 

“That’s pears preserved with lemon peel 
and ginger root, isn’t it?” said Guy, smacking 
his lips and almost forgetting about the ame- 
thysts. 

“Yes,” a little impatiently. “Idon’tknow 
much about it. Sarah Dakota’s helping fix 
the lemon peel. And as they were all so busy, 
I thought I’d take my chance and run up to 
my room and get the amethysts. By swinging 
out on the limb of the elm I can reach this 
piazza roof very easily, and so that’s the way I 
came. And now, Guy,” coaxingly, “promise 
you won't say a word to a living soul about 
what you saw.” 

“ A person who is cognizant of a crime and 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


267 


helps conceal it is punishable by law. I read 
that out of one of Uncle Roscoe’s law books 
the other day!” solemnly, and he added, 
“ Maybe I am in duty bound to peach! ” 

“ No, you’re not! The amethysts are safe, 
I say, and I won’t touch them again. Isn’t 
that enough? I don’t think it’s very kind — or 
— or gentlemanly to tease and worry me so ! ” 
and Juliet took out her soft, cambric handker- 
chief and began to cry. 

Guy’s face softened. He liked to tease, but 
when it came to making a girl cry, why that 
was another thing ! The kind, honest, chival- 
rous Van Dorn blood rebelled at such an of- 
fense. Besides, it was rather overwhelming to 
see Juliet cry. She was generally so lofty and 
self-possessed and sweetly serene. He shifted 
himself uneasily on the window ledge. 

4 4 Don’t cry!” he said. “Turn off the 
hose right away — do ! Don’t you know that 
your nose is getting as red as one of Aunt Bar- 
bara’s peonies?” artfully. 

“ I don’t care if it is ! ” and Juliet sniffled 
dismally. 

“There, do stop! I’ll promise not to tell 
anybody about your taking the necklace,” hes- 
itatingly. “That is, if Sarah Dakota isn’t 


268 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


mixed up in it. There’s been some racket go- 
ing on lately, and I know it. You girls have 
gotten into some mess, I’ll wager a cooky, and 
if the Territory is in any trouble, and my hold- 
ing my mouth shut about this affair is going to 
harm her, then I’ll take back my promise,” 
sturdily. 

“ Sarah Dakota never had a thing to do 
about taking the necklace! ” said Juliet, eva- 
sively. 

“ Honest true? ” 

“ Honest true — I am the one who took it, and 
I’m the one who will be blamed if you go and 
be a telltale,” looking cross and injured. 

Guy colored. 

If there was anything he abhorred it was tale- 
bearing. Like many other boys he considered 
it worse than fibbing. 

The tears were still in Juliet’s eyes. She 
looked downcast. It would really be mean, he 
thought, to peach on a girl. She had done 
wrong, been sorry for it, and had restored the 
necklace. What harm would there be in his 
keeping still. After all, it was none of his busi- 
ness anyway. So after a minute’s consider- 
ation he said, reassuringly : 

“Well, there, I won’t tell the aunties, so 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


269 


you needn’t look so woebegone ! If you say 
that Sarah Dakota hasn’t anything to do with 
it — and I don’t believe she has, for she isn’t a 
girl to get into a scrape on account of gewgaws 
— why, I’ll do as I say — keep mum. There, 
let me help you out on the piazza roof. Don’t 
go back to your room, somebody’ll see your 
red eyes. Come over to my balcony. It’s 
cool and shady there, for the sun’s gone away 
from that side, and we’ll play that new game of 
‘characters.’ There, give me your hand, and 
don’t catch your skirt in that vine. Now, give 
a jump! Ah, here we are! ” as he deposited 
his cousin in the hammock swinging among the 
vines by his balcony. 

Guy was just distributing the “ character ' ’ 
cards when a loud, shrill call rang up from the 
hall below through the window of his room. 

“ There’s Thirzah Ann calling ; wonder what 
she wants. I’ll go and see,” and Guy disap- 
peared within the window. 

Juliet tilted back and forth in the red and 
yellow hammock. She made soft little dabs 
with her handkerchief and Guy’s cologne on 
her tear-stained face. In spite of the relief 
caused by Guy’s promise she still looked wor- 
ried. 


270 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ I don’t think there's any harm," she said, 
as if arguing with her conscience, “ any harm 
at all in telling him that Sarah Dakota didn’t 
have anything to do with the necklace. She 
hadn’t, that was true. Of course the aunties 
think she had. I presume they think she took 
it and wore it to the hop at the Springs. But 
goodness me ! I am not to blame for other peo- 
ple’s mistakes, am I? ’’ and she gave the ham- 
mock another and more vigorous tilt that dashed 
it against the woodbine, causing a shower of 
crimson leaves. 

Presently Guy appeared at the window. He 
didn’t come out. His face was somewhat ex- 
cited. 

“ Gather up ‘characters’ and come in," he 
said. “We’re both wanted down stairs. 
There’s a letter come; Uncle Roscoe brought 
it from the post office a little while ago, and the 
aunties have left the pear-chip to burn, and all 
the clans are mustering in the hall below, and 
there is to be a grand family conclave ! ’ * 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

LEFT TO THEMSELVES. 


UNT CALPHURNIA VAN DORN was 



Y ill. Perhaps we ought to have mentioned 
her before, though to be sure she doesn't play 
a very important part in our little story. 

She was the oldest living Van Dorn, being 
the aunt of Miss Katrinka and Miss Barbara 
and Mr. Roscoe. She was a very old woman 
indeed, born in Washington’s administration, as 
she always proudly informed everybody. She 
had the names of all the succeeding presidents 
at her tongue’s end ; had seen most of them 
and shaken hands with them. She had always 
been greatly interested in politics and woman 
suffrage. She hoped to live long enough to 
see women vote, she always said. 

However, she was getting old and was often 
subject to sudden attacks of illness. At such 
times she always sent word to her nieces and 
nephews at the old farm. She wanted her own 
Van Dorn kin around her when she felt death 
drawing near. 


272 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Her attacks were generally of short duration 
and rarely very severe. 

But this time she had sent a telegram instead 
of a letter, consequently, as Miss Katrinka said 
solemnly, “ She must be worse than usual.” 

They were all in the lower hall, as Guy had 
said. The aunties still had on their long, 
brown checked gingham aprons. Sarah Da- 
kota was there, redolent of lemon peel, sticky 
with sugar, and armed with a spoon, for in this 
moment of excitement she felt it her duty to 
rush out into the kitchen and give a hasty but 
vigorous stir to the “pear-chip,” a luscious 
preserve, the recipe for which Miss Barbara had 
explained had been given her by an old school- 
mate, Miss Lucretia Prince. 

Sarah Dakota had pleased her aunts by her 
interest in culinary matters. 

“ I want to learn to cook and do all such 
things to please my father,” she had said, and 
so gave strict attention to every detail. She 
had learned to make good bread, the lightest 
of sponge cake, and genuine Dutch doughnuts 
that equaled Aunt Barbara's own. And now, 
as we have intimated, she was being initi- 
ated into the mysteries of “pear-chip.” 

But let us return to the subject of Aunt Cal- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


273 


phurnia Van Dorn’s illness. As Guy said, “ a 
grand family conclave ” was being held in the 
hall. Of course Uncle Roscoe and the aunties 
must start as soon as possible, and the ques- 
tion under discussion was, as Aunt Katrinka 
said, “ How to leave all our young folks here 
alone ? ’ ’ 

“ Now, don’t worry, auntie,” said Guy, 
coming to the front in a manly way. “ I 
guess I can steer the Van Dorn farm for a few 
days.” 

“Of course he can,” said Uncle Roscoe, 
looking pleased and patting him on the shoul- 
der. 

“ Well, he can do it a great deal better than 
he could have done six months ago,” remarked 
Aunt Katrinka. “Then I wouldn’t have 
thought for a minute that I could go off and 
leave him. I’d have put him and his dictionary 
and encyclopedia and a lot of cookies into a 
bandbox and taken them all along.” 

“You would have had to get a pretty big 
bandbox, auntie ; that encyclopedia is in eight 
big volumes, to say nothing of Webster’s Un- 
abridged and my one hundred pounds of Van 
Dorn flesh and bones. I’d have needed lots of 
cookies, too!” said Guy, good-naturedly. 

18 


274 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ Well, anyhow, I’d felt worried to leave 
you. But now you're so much improved that 
— well, what do you think about it, Roscoe ? ” 
turning in perplexity to her brother, who had 
just plunged head foremost into the hall closet 
in search of handbags and shawlstraps for the 
coming journey. 

“ What do I think about it? ” answered Uncle 
Roscoe in a muffled voice from out the folds of 
an umbrella and an overcoat which had just 
tumbled down from the hooks; “ well, I think 
these young folks can take care of themselves 
for a few days at least. There’s Sarah Dakota 
now,” and his face had a roguish look on it as 
he emerged from the closet, “she’ll look out 
for gypsies and do up ‘ pear-chip,’ Guy’ll split 
kindlings and shut up the hens at night, and 
Juliet’ll cover up the house plants and keep 
things nice and natty. Then there are Jabez 
and Thirzah Ann — they’re worth a whole regi- 
ment ! We won’t be gone long anyhow. 
Aunt Calphurnia’s attacks never last a great 
while.” 

“Maybe she’ll not get over this one,” said 
Aunt Barbara in a lugubrious tone. 

“0, nonsense,” Uncle Roscoe exclaimed, 
cheerily. “ Of course she’ll get over it. She 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


275 


wants to live to see the ladies vote ! And so 
do I ! ” gallantly. “ Maybe I may escort her 
to the polls myself, who knows ! But hurry, 
girls, if we’re to take that seven o’clock train, 
we’ve got to ‘ rustle’ — isn’t that the word you 
use out West, little Territory? ” 

I want to baste some white lace in the 
sleeves of my black henrietta-cloth,” said Miss 
Katrinka, while Miss Barbara plaintively re- 
marked, “I shall have to fix mine, too. 0,dear! 
It does make one feel so nervous to get a tele- 
gram and have to hurry so. I should like to 
boil some ham or a chicken for sandwiches for 
our lunch on the journey.” 

* ‘ Never mind, ’ ’ said Uncle Roscoe. ‘ ‘ Corn 
beef or cheese’ll do. We’ll get a good filling 
meal when we arrive at Aunt Calphurnia’s. 
She always has something nice. The last time 
we were called there by her sudden illness, 
don’t you remember she cooked most of the 
dinner herself ? And there we had expected 
to find her flat on her back! But the only 
thing she complained of was that the * rheuma- 
tism in her wrist prevented her from turning 
the ice cream freezer! ’ Sometimes,” here 
Uncle Roscoe rubbed his nose reflectively; 
“ sometimes I really think she gets tired of 


276 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


looking at our photographs, and so resorts to 
this ruse to see the originals. It’s very com- 
plimentary, to be sure, though somehow rather 
inconvenient.” 

“We ought to be thankful Aunt Calphurnia 
is fond of us,” remarked Miss Barbara, and 
then she added a little dolefully, “You know 
there aren’t many of us Van Dorns left.” 

“ Here are a lot of lively ones,” exclaimed 
Uncle Roscoe, with a great sweep of his arm 
that encircled the two girls, Guy, and little 
Garde. “They’ll take good care of the farm 
while we're away.” 

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to risk it,” 
said his sister, dubiously, and then she added 
with sudden earnestness, “ But I’m sure some- 
thing’ll happen while we’re gone.” 

“That’s what you always say when we go 
visit Aunt Calphurnia,” was Uncle Roscoe’s 
merry rejoinder. “And nothing ever did 
happen, only old Speckleback crept away and 
stole her nest and came out with a brood of 
late chickens that you had to coddle. 0, yes, 
and once a tramp stole my blue overalls that 
I’d laid out on the woodpile to dry.” 

“0, it’ll be worse this time. Here we leave 
all these young folks. I’m sure something’ll 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


277 


happen. But if you’re determined to go, Ros- 
coe — and I suppose we ought, seeing Aunt 
Calphurnia must be pretty sick — why, I’ll have 
to get ready. Katrinka, if you were in my 
place, would you wear cashmere or the henri- 
etta ? ’ ’ 

Uncle Roscoe and the aunties couldn’t get 
away on the seven o’clock train, but they 
started very early the following morning. 

It seemed very lonesome after they had gone, 
and all the young folks felt impressed to be on 
their best behavior. 

Juliet swept and dusted the “Old Hen” 
and picked some late flowers for the parlor. 
She also practiced her music diligently for an 
hour and mended Uncle Roscoe’s gloves. 
Then, feeling tired and thinking she was en- 
titled to some rest, she curled up on the lounge 
in the sitting room and fell to reading a novel. 

I am sorry to say that it happened to be one 
that the aunties disapproved of. It was one 
that made the hero a much-abused individual, 
who thought it clever to be irreligious, and con- 
sidered himself injured because everybody 
did not have as low an estimate of his Creator 
as he had. He finally committed suicide, while 
a distant band considerately played a soft, low 


278 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


accompaniment to one of his own poems. The 
heroine was a wishy-washy creature of hys- 
terical frame of mind, with long golden hair 
that was always “ floating over her shoulders.' ' 
There were many French phrases in the book, 
still more slang, and very little good English. 

Uncle Roscoe called it trash, the aunties 
voted to give it to Thirzah Ann to use for kin- 
dling the fire. Meanwhile, Juliet smuggled it 
away, and, now that occasion offered, was 
regaling herself with its morbid pages. 

She slipped it under the lounge cushion every 
time Guy or Sarah Dakota entered the room, 
so that they found her dozing with her fore- 
finger in an innocent volume of Miss Mulock’s. 

After a while Guy went away to the wood 
lot with Jabez, the hired man, who was intend- 
ing to chop down one or two dead maple trees 
for use in the fireplaces during the winter. 

Sarah Dakota was in the kitchen helping 
Thirzah Ann fry doughnuts. Presently she 
came into the kitchen sitting room with a long 
apron on, and a lardy smell about her that made 
Juliet's aristocratic nose take a celestial curve. 

“ Humph! you needn't turn up your nose 
that way. You can eat as many doughnuts 
as anybody,” Sarah Dakota exclaimed, laugh- 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


279 


ing, and then she added, “ I presume I do 
suggest Charles Lamb’s essay on ‘Roast Pork,’ 
or was it ‘Pig?’ Don’t I make you think of the 
smoky, porky smell of the fire those little Chinese 
boys made when they burned down their father’s 
hut to cook the pigs? But never mind. Don’t be 
too fastidious. I came in to tell you something 
dreadful!” and the girl’s face grew suddenly 
grave. 

“What’s the matter? Thirzah Ann been 
telling you some of those doleful stories of hers 
about love of dancing and dress, and then 
afterward her experiencing religion and feel- 
ing so happy and all that? ” 

“She hasn’t been telling me any camp 
meeting stories lately,” Sarah Dakota answered, 
soberly. “As for her religion, I guess she'll 
need it now. She’s in trouble, poor girl! A 
boy from the village just now came to say that 
her sister, Mrs. Jones, is dead.” 

“ 0 !” and Juliet yawned languidly and 
looked a little bored. She had gotten into an 
interesting part of her novel, just where the hero 
was deciding whether to use prussic acid or a 
revolver for suicidal purposes, when Sarah Da- 
kota came in, and she was eager to go on with 
the story. 


280 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“Yes, she’s dead, poor thing!” Sarah Da- 
kota continued. “She’s been sick ever so long. 
Consumption, you know. But she went very 
suddenly at the last. Thirzah Ann didn’t 
dream the end was so near, or she would have 
gone down to the village. She’s crying her 
eyes out now because she wasn’t there to say 
good-bye !” and Sarah Dakota’s own eyes were 
misty with sympathy for another’s woe. 

“ I don’t see that there is any need in mak- 
ing such an ado about it! Mrs. Jones is a 
good deal better off, I think. She didn’t have 
a very comfortable home. It was such a tiny 
house — only three rooms, and they all smelled 
of poor tobacco and boiled cabbage. I went 
there once; Aunt Barbara coaxed me to. She 
wanted to send some chicken broth and some 
grapes. I couldn’t stay there long, it actually 
made me feel faint ! I am of a very sensitive, 
delicate organization myself. Madame Ezibodi, 
in the school at New York, used to tell mamma 
so. I can’t bear distress of any sort, and bad 
smells are still worse. That poor Mrs. Jones 
looked awful ! She was so thin, and her eyes 
were so hollow and so big and bright, and her 
voice had a faint, far-away sound. It made 
me exceeding nervous ! I dare say the poor 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


281 


thing meant no harm, but she did make such 
personal remarks ! She reached out her hand 
—it v/as very thin and white — and put it on 
mine, and asked me whether I was a Christian 
and had given my heart to Christ ! She was 
very earnest about it, though she didn't use 
good grammar. Somehow her words took hold 
of me in a real ghostly way. I haven’t gotten 
over them yet. She kept saying, * Think of 
your soul! think of your soul! Be sure it’s 
saved! be sure it’s saved!’ I declare, little 
Indian, it gave me the horrors. I could hard- 
ly breathe, and I got out of the house just 
as soon as I could. And neither of the aunties 
could coax me to go there again. I can’t bear 
to go near sick folks, anyway,” and Juliet made 
a little grimace of disgust. 

“ I don’t mind it as much as I used to,” 
said her cousin, thoughtfully. “I’ve been 
around with the aunties a good deal; then, too, 
Essie Hendricks and I have called on sick peo- 
ple. One gets used to it, and somehow, if 
you can make anybody feel more comfortable 
or happier, it’s a great pleasure. Besides, it’s 
a real cure for discontented feelings — I’ve found 
that out,” earnestly. “Essie and I liked to 
call on Mrs. Jones. She was always so glad to 


282 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


see us and so grateful. And a more patient 
woman I never saw!” 

‘ ‘ I think she must have been very patient to 
endure the tobacco and boiled cabbage,” with 
another curl of the nose. 

“I guess the poor soul has had something 
else to worry about besides boiled cabbage and 
tobacco,” said Sarah Dakota, gravely. “You 
know, there are those little children she left. 
Three of them, and the oldest barely eight 
years ! They’ll need somebody to care for them. 
Thirzah Ann says she ought to go there right 
away and see to things. She’s the only near 
relative. But she hates to leave us alone. She 
promised the aunties to stay right here. Of 
course they didn’t think about Mrs. Jones dying 
so soon. If they were here, though, I’m sure 
they’d let her go.” 

“Well, they aren’t here,” crossly. “I 
don’t see how she can be spared. Duty is 
duty. Thirzah Ann is paid to cook and clean 
for us, and I don’t see why she need to run off 
and leave us, especially after she’s promised the 
aunties to stay. Of course,” with the air of 
making a great concession, “ of course she can 
go to the funeral. But that won’t take more 
than half a day.” 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


283 


“ She wants to stay the rest of the week, any- 
way, and I told her she might," decidedly. 

“Well, then you’ll have to do all the work — 
cooking and all!" sharply. 

“I’m willing," in a tone she tried hard to 
make gentle. “Of course I can’t do as well as 
Thirzah Ann or the aunts, but I’ll do my best. 
Thirzah Ann has lots of things baked up. Let 
me see," and Sarah Dakota counted off on her 
fingers. “Bread, fresh doughnuts, two pies — 
one apple pie, the other lemon — half a layer 
jelly cake, and some ginger cookies. Then 
there’s a loaf of Aunt Barbara's fruit cake, all 
nicely frosted, down in a stone jar in the cellar. 
Thirzah Ann says we can use that if company 
comes." 

“Well, I hope they won’t. Entertaining 
company when one has no servant isn’t much 
fun. I suppose if anybody came I should have 
to turn in and help do the work. If we’re alone 
I guess you can manage easy enough. I’ll set 
the table and do the dusting, but I won't touch 
another thing. I think it was very foolish to 
let Thirzah Ann have her own way. I can’t 
bear to think of working any more. I was a 
regular drudge this morning," sighing dolefully 
at the recollection of the sweeping and dusting 


284 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


done up in the “ Old Hen.” “I really was so 
tired when I sat down to practice that my wrists 
ached. My head aches now. It did this morn- 
ing, too.” 

“Maybe you ate too many pancakes. You 
remember you and Guy ran a race,” laughing. 

“ Well, Guy came out ahead. He ate more 
than I did. I wish I hadn't touched one, for 
maybe they did make me feel badly. But the 
honey on them was so nice. Maybe I have 
taken a little cold, too. Aunt Barbara wanted 
me to see to her house plants on the piazza, 
and cover them up if it should be frosty, and I 
went out and did it last evening. Yes, I guess I 
have got a little cold, for I have been sneezing.” 

“ And your eyes look watery as though you’d 
taken cold,” rejoined her cousin. “ Hadn’t 
you better let me give you some herb tea ? Let 
me see,” reflectively, “ what herb is good fora 
cold — boneset, catnip, spearmint?” 

“0, I don’t want any of those messes. 
I’m thankful the aunties aren’t here to dose 
me. I don’t know what Aunt Barbara would 
do if she couldn’t make herb tea sometimes. 
She actually made some of catnip for the cat 
the other day. Old Tabby seemed to enjoy it 
better than I would. No, I don’t want any 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


285 


tea. All I want is to be let alone,” and Juliet 
turned impatiently on the lounge. “ And for 
pity’s sake, don’t come with any more doleful 
tales about people dying. I can see that Mrs. 
Jones now. Her eyes were so bright. ‘Think 
of your soul ! ’ Ugh ! I wish I could forget 
her words and the way she said them,” and 
the girl shuddered. 

Sarah Dakota tucked the old silk log cabin 
quilt carefully around her cousin and left the 
room, softly shutting the door behind her. 

She found Thirzah Ann in the kitchen, bus- 
tling about, doing her best to arrange things so 
that there would be as little inconvenience as 
possible by her leaving. 

She was a plump, flaxen-haired Dutch girl, 
whose placid, good-natured face wore an ex- 
pression of deep sorrow. 

“ The beans are cooked a beautiful brown, 
Miss Sary Dakoty, and I put the cold beef in 
that ’ere refrigerator, ’cause it’s ben kind of 
warm in the middle of the day. I made some 
baked pears, too; Guy, he likes them. I’ve 
skimmed the milk, but there needn’t be no 
churnin’ till Monday, and p’r’aps I can be back 
by then,” with a little sob as Thirzah Ann 
thought of the sorrowful days before her. 


286 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Thirzah Ann went away, and the girls were 
left to keep house alone. It was very lonesome. 
The house itself had never seemed so large be- 
fore. It seemed odd not to see Aunt Barbara 
beating up eggs, stoning raisins, or whipping 
cream for dainty desserts, or to hear the tap of 
Aunt Katrinka’s brisk, little heels going over the 
hard wood floor as she attended to the house- 
hold duties. She missed the smell of Uncle 
Roscoe’s big Dutch pipe, with which he was 
wont to indulge in an after-dinner smoke on 
the side piazza. The only one who relieved the 
monotonous loneliness was little Garde, and he 
did it by numerous and startling escapades. 

He decoyed a hop toad into the house and 
put him into Aunt Katrinka’s potpourri jar in 
the parlor, and when Juliet removed the blue 
Japanese lid to allow a caller, Miss Lucretia 
Prince, to inhale the delicious whiff, out flopped 
the toad, and as Miss Prince happened to be a 
lady of nervous temperament, you may imagine 
the consequences. 

Garde also found some ancient firecrackers 
of Guy’s, left from the Fourth of July, and 
hunted around for a tin pail under which to 
fire them. He found one in the back yard. 
It had been placed there full of skim milk for a 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


287 


young Holstein calf tethered there to the big 
horse chestnut tree. 

Bossy was not very hungry, however, and 
had left the pail nearly half full. Garde un- 
ceremoniously dumped the contents on the 
grass, placed his firecrackers under the pail, 
touched his bit of lighted punk to the tail end 
of one of them, and — whizz ! flash ! bang ! 
and tinware went up without the help of any 
tariff bill ! The calf went up, too ! He ut- 
tered a loud bellow of terror, made a terrific 
plunge that snapped the rope, and off he went, 
his sharp, little hoofs making great havoc with 
the bed of pansies Aunt Katrinka had just set 
out to be ready for spring blooming. 

Sarah Dakota left the dinner cooking on the 
stove and ran out to catch the frightened 
animal. A long chase she had, too, down the 
turnpike road, with all her bright hair flying, 
and her apron on all smirched with stoveblack- 
ing, yelk of eggs, and dabs of flour ! And as 
ill luck would have it, Judge Delano drove by 
just then, and Sarah Dakota’s cheeks burned 
hotly as she overheard him say to the finely 
dressed ladies in the carriage with him, 
“ That’s our recent importation from the West 
— Roscoe Van Dorn’s little niece.” 


288 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


She got the calf, however, and led it back 
tired and subdued, and with a look of doubtful 
inquiry in its eyes as it turned them toward 
Garde, who stood holding the back yard gate 
open, saying plaintively, “ I told it not to be 
frightened, even before I scratched the match ! 
I said that we’d make believe that it was the 
Fourth of July, and on that day folks fired off 
cannons and made a great noise because George 
Washington never told a lie ! ” 

I cannot attempt to enumerate all the won- 
derful things done by that young man on that 
memorable day. He astonished the grocery 
man by giving him, unknown to his cousin, an 
order for five pounds of ground black pepper ; 
he puzzled the butcher by requesting him to 
bring a pound of “ fresh salt pork, the kind 
you put on your foot when you step on a nail, 
so’s you won’t get your jaws locked up!” he 
gave a tumbler of jelly, a blue-and-gold copy 
of Tennyson’s poems, a lump of gum, and 
three of Uncle Roscoe’s best linen handker- 
chiefs to a tramp ; he turned the spigot of the 
vinegar barrel so that three or four gallons of 
its contents were wasted in the cellar ; he 
scooped out a little trench for the vinegar to 
run in — “I'm playing it’s the Erie Canal,” he 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


289 


explained; he burnt his red locks, frizzing 
them with Juliet’s curling tongs; he soiled his 
shirt waist, got one of his shoes stuck in the 
mud by the watering trough, and stuffed him- 
self to repletion with eighteen ginger cookies 
and some pieces of sugared flag root. 

It was while engaged in watching lest her 
little cousin should be carried off by tramps, 
and, at the same time, doing her best to tidy 
up the kitchen after washing the dinner dishes, 
that Sarah Dakota was startled by a loud call 
from the sitting room. It was Juliet, who 
called her in a frightened yet imperious tone. 

Running in with her work apron still on and 
the dripping mop in her hand, she found her 
cousin sitting up on the lounge, just awakened 
from a disturbed nap. 

She looked very strangely her cousin thought. 
Her eyes were unusually bright, her face 
flushed, her voice husky. 

“Iam real sick,” she exclaimed, querulously. 
“ I called and called, but you didn’t hear me 
more than a post. I should think you might 
pay a little attention to me when you know that 
I felt so sick that I couldn’t eat hardly any 
dinner. I thought maybe I’d feel better if I 
had a nap. So I slept a little, but I had a 
19 


290 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


horrid dream. I thought I was dead and in 
my coffin, and somebody was putting flowers 
on the lid. It was that Malvina Sampson, and 
it seemed so queer to see her cry. 0, dear! 
my head buzzes and my throat is sore and my 
eyes feel so prickly! 0, what shall I do ? ” 

“ You’ve taken cold, as you thought you 
had,” said Sarah Dakota, kindly. “ I remem- 
ber now what auntie uses for a cold, it’s sage 
tea. I’ll make you some right away.” 

“ It won’t do any good,” crossly. “ I've 
got something more than a cold. I’ve had 
colds before, and they were never so bad as 
this. Raise that window shade a minute — not 
much, for it hurts my eyes — and I want you to 
look at my face. Don’t you see red pimples 
on it ? I looked at the sideboard mirror a few 
minutes ago, and I was sure I saw some. 0, 
little Indian ! ” and Juliet clutched her cousin in 
a sudden spasm of terror; “ 0, do you know 
what’s the matter ? I’ve got — yes, I’ve got the 
— the smallpox .” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE “LITTLE INDIAN” TAKES COMMAND. 

“ CM ALLPOX! ” repeated Sarah Dakota in 
a mechanical way, vaguely wondering if 
her cousin wasn’t delirious. “What do you 
mean, Juliet ? ” 

“Well, I haven’t said anything about it be- 
fore,” said Juliet, with a moan of anxiety, 
“ but I have worried a great deal. You see, 
that evening I went over to the Springs a bolt 
or something on the wagon broke, and we 
stopped at Mr. Armstrong’s, the blacksmith, 
to see if we couldn’t fix it. He had gone to 
bed, and we had hard work to wake him. While 
some of us stood in the porch, knocking at the 
door, something stirred on the bench beside us. 
It was a tramp. He had crawled in there for a 
nap. And when Mr. Armstrong came to the door 
with the lamp in his hand, the light from it fell 
on the man's face, and it was all red and 
swollen with some sort of eruption, and Mr. 
Armstrong said in a scared sort of way, 
‘Clear out of this, you fellow! You make 
tracks pretty lively! You look as though 


292 SARAH DAKOTA. 

you'd just had the smallpox and hadn’t got 
quite over it.' Well, you can believe we all 
scampered back to the wagon as fast as our 
heels would carry us, and the tramp, growling 
and swearing, staggered down the road. Mr. 
Armstrong said he wasn’t sure that the man 
had the smallpox, but certainly something was 
the matter with him. We all felt frightened, 
of course. Ronald was as white as a sheet; I 
could see him by the moonlight, and he held 
his handkerchief up to his nose for more than 
a mile ! He thought we all ought to go back to 
the village and to the doctor's office and get 
some disinfectant, but most of the young folks 
— the Sampson girls especially — laughed at 
him and called him 1 Granny ! ' They said the 
man was only flushed from drinking. I've 
tried to think so all the while, but I was real 
uneasy. I was so glad when the ninth day 
passed. That was day before yesterday. But 
yesterday morning, when I got up, my head 
ached, too, and I felt real tired. I’m worse 
than ever now.” 

“ Dear me ! why didn’t you tell the aunties? 
They would have known just what to do, and 
they wouldn’t have gone away, I'm quite sure.” 

“0, I didn’t want to own up that I was 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


293 


sick. I kept saying that it was only my 
imagination. Besides, they’d question me 
about everything, and maybe it’d all come out 
about my having been at the Springs — the ride 
and the hop and all. And I’ve tried so hard 
to keep that a secret.” 

“ I know you have,” said Sarah Dakota, a 
little bitterly, as she thought how she had been 
misjudged by the keeping of Juliet’s secret. 
But her heart melted at the sight of her cousin's 
pain-racked face, and she said, soothingly, 
“ Don’t be so worried, Julie! Maybe it isn’t 
smallpox at all, but only a cold or indigestion. 
I heard Aunt Katrinka tell Mrs. Pettibone that 
she thought the eruption on her baby’s face was 
caused by his stomach being out of order.” 

“0, it’s smallpox! I know it is! Didn’t 
I tell you I have been exposed to it. 0, that 
horrid tramp ! I was so near that tramp that my 
dress touched him. I was the first one who 
discovered him ; I thought it was Mr. Arm- 
strong’s big Newfoundland dog lying there, and 
patted him with my hand, the dirty wretch ! 
0, he had the smallpox; I’m sure, perfectly 
sure he had ! And I’ve caught it, I know I 
have,” and Juliet tossed her arms and wrung her 
hands, and turned and twisted in a frantic way. 


294 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


“ Don’t be so distressed, you poor dear! ” 
and Sarah Dakota’s voice was full of sympathy. 
“ I’m going right away to look in the big doc- 
tor-book,” and after giving her cousin a glass 
of water, which she swallowed in one feverish 
draught, the little Westerner betook herself to 
Aunt Katrinka’s room. 

There were book shelves on the wall, swing- 
ing shelves with pink-red felt lambrequins to 
them. Occupying a place of honor among the 
religious works, mild poetry, and very select 
and proper fiction, was Aunt Katrinka’s pet 
doctor-book. 

It was an old-fashioned volume, bound in 
black leather. It had been in the family 
library for a long time, and had been consulted 
by so many generations of Van Dorns that its 
lids were quite worn, and Aunt Katrinka had 
covered them with Turkey-red calico, which 
made them look very suspicious, not to say gay 
and cheerful, for a volume of a rather lugubrious 
nature. 

Inside, on the first page, was an engraved 
portrait o f the author, a lean, solemn-looking 
man, whose long neck was swathed about with 
the voluminous folds of an old-fashioned 
“stock,” and whose long, tapering fingers 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


295 


grasped a genteel-looking cane, presumably 
gold-headed. A very wise, quaint, old- 
fashioned medical man was he, and, though he 
lived in the days of calomel and blood-letting, I 
dare say he had assuaged many pains, even 
though he had not heard of bacteria, Pasteur, 
or Koch. But at all events he had written 
a doctor-book, or compendious treatise upon 
household medicine, which the aunties quoted 
as authority, and to which Sarah Dakota now 
turned for information. 

“Smallpox! smallpox!” she repeated, as 
she turned over the leaves. “Ah, here it is! 
4 Terrible disease/ 4 ravaged all England in 
former days/ um — ah, ‘violent chills, head- 
ache, fever, little red elevations of the skin/ 
etc., etc.” 

Sarah Dakota’s face grew more and more 
grave as she read on. “ These symptoms are 
like Juliet’s,” she said. “ I thought that per- 
haps she was frightened unnecessarily. Some- 
times people are so feverish when they take 
cold. And then, as the aunties say, there may 
be an eruption from indigestion. But Juliet 
says that she has been exposed to the horrid 
disease. She seems convinced that the tramp 
had it. 0, dear! It does seem as though 


296 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


nothing but evil has come out of her trip to the 
Springs. It’s been one circle of trouble like 
another, widening out as when one tosses a 
pebble into the water. But what shall I do if 
she has the smallpox ? ” and Sarah Dakota 
brought out the words slowly and impressively, 
while her eyes dilated with a growing horror. 

The thought of her own personal danger from 
contagion, the necessity for self-preservation — 
aye, even more ! — the temptation to take refuge 
in flight, suddenly assailed her. “ What if I 
should take it ? ” she whispered, with a shudder. 
“I've never been vaccinated. If I were to 
take it I would be more likely to die than 
Juliet, for she’s been vaccinated. She was 
grumbling about it once, because it made two 
little white scars just above her elbow. 0, 
smallpox must be a loathsome disease ! If one 
were to die, nobody’ d want to kiss one or stay 
near one or put flowers around one; one’s 
friends would be obliged to stay away, and — 
and there’s the burying one so soon — hurrying 
one away under the ground in such a selfish, 
heartless way! 0, why should I run the risk? 
Juliet's never been anything to me ! She's 
caused nearly all my trouble at school and here 
at the farm. She’s been sly and mean. For 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


297 


her own selfishness, she’s poisoned the minds 
of people whose love and respect I crave. 
She’s unkind and treacherous. Why should I 
not leave her ? There 'd be no harm in my run- 
ning down to the village to call at Dr. Pills- 
bury's. He’d come, and perhaps bring a 
nurse with him — a nurse who would be much 
more competent than I. I know scarcely any- 
thing about sickness, only the little dosing and 
coddling I’ve seen the aunties do. Smallpox 
must be a very particular disease to see to. 
Nobody could blame me for leaving the house ! 
A person has a perfect right to try to escape 
from danger. Why can’t I leave Juliet and 
get the doctor, and then leave the case with 
him; he’d be responsible.” 

Why, indeed? Only back of all thoughts of 
terror — self and nervous terror — and natural 
temptation, came a praiseworthy pride in dis- 
liking to shirk a duty or evade a serious respon- 
sibility — in .short, being a coward. 

4 4 Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall 
lose it.” 

4 4 Greater love hath no man than this, that a 
man lay down his life for his friends.” 

44 1 say unto you, Love your enemies, ... do 
good to them . . . which despitefully use you.” 


298 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


Those were the words she had read some- 
where in the little red Bible. And also another 
assurance : 

“Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by 
night ; nor for the arrow that fiieth by day ; nor 
for the pestilence that walketh in darkness. . . . 
For he shall give his angels charge over thee.” 

That brought calm and courage to her troubled 
soul. 

“No, I will not run away and leave Juliet,” 
she said, in a low, firm voice. “ No matter 
how unkind and hateful she's been to me, it 
would be cruel and cowardly to leave her here 
alone. She might grow worse or need some- 
thing. At any rate, it would make her frantic 
if she were to be left alone. She’s very nerv- 
ous now. Perhaps by staying I may help her 
pull through. This old doctor-book speaks 
very cheerfully of smallpox cases. It doesn't 
believe in using harsh methods, but in herbs 
and such things. That's the reason the aunties 
like it so much. And I think myself,” with a 
wise little air, “that it is written very sensibly. 
Now, I don’t know much about doctoring, but 
I will do the best I can. It says, * Keep the 
patient warm and induce perspiration.’ I know 
that sage tea’ll do that. And it's good as a 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


299 


gargle, too, and Juliet’s throat is a little sore, 
she says. 0, I hope I’ll do everything right, 
so that she’ll get well. I wonder if it wouldn't 
be best for me to kneel down and ask God to 
help me to be brave and wise, good and true. 
I want to ask him, too, to take away this fear, 
so that if I should get sick — or — or die, even, 
I shall not dread it so." 

And there in Aunt Katrinka’s room, in the 
loneliness and gloom of the gathering twilight, 
the young girl knelt down and prayed to her 
heavenly Father for strength and guidance. 

Then she set herself bravely at work doing 
her duty. She started up the fire in the range 
and put over water to heat. She made a wood 
fire in the hearth of the sitting room, and crack- 
ling scarlet flames gave a helpful warmth and 
good cheer. She steeped the sage tea and 
made Juliet drink a great bowlful of it. She 
tucked the blankets around her, after getting 
her undressed and comfortably placed in her 
own little bed up in the “ Old Hen," never 
flinching when Juliet’s hot hand caught hers, 
and Juliet, with feverish breath, said huskily: 

“It’s awfully good of you to stay by me. 
I’ve been thinking about it as I lay here. If it 
were I, I know I should run away. Smallpox 


300 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


is awful ! Think, even if one gets well, one is 
so horribly pitted! I’ve been so proud of my 
complexion. Yours is nice, too, now that the 
freckles are gone. Your lips and cheeks are 
redder than mine. You’d feel badly, too, if 
you were to be pitted, and maybe anyhow we’d 
die. And O, I’m not ready yet. I feel wicked 
— I feel — 0, I never knew what it was to feel 
oneself, in danger. Money can’t help one, 
nor a pretty face, nor to be graceful and styl- 
ish. One’s friends can’t keep one from dying, 
either. Only you are doing all you can to help 
me. It’s so good of you, little Indian. Don’t 
leave me.” 

“I won’t, my dear,” was Sarah Dakota’s 
prompt answer, and she stayed beside her 
cousin as much as possible until the latter fell 
into a fitful slumber, when she stole softly out 
to attend to things about the farm. 

There was so much to be done ! The hens 
to feed and the hen house to lock up. Phebe, 
the Jersey cow, must be milked and the other 
cattle fed and watered. Where were Guy and 
the hired man? They should have been here 
two hours ago. 

Little Garde was out by the stone steps crack- 
ing butternuts. His chubby fingers were stained 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


301 


dark with the fresh green shells. He started to 
come up the steps, but Sarah Dakota waved 
him back. 

“Don't come in now, dearie," she said, 
fearing lest she bore contagion in her garments 
because she had been so near Juliet. “Don't 
come in now. I want you to go on an errand 
for me." 

“Is it a little errand or a great errand?" 
Garde inquired, in an important manner. 

“It’s a great errand. Do you think you 
could find your way down to the village?" 

“My, yes. I’d just follow the telegram 
poles. I guess that's what the men did when 
they made this turnpike road, followed the tel- 
egram poles. Did you want me to go to the 
post office? I'd like to, for Uncle Roscoe says 
that there's an Uncle Sam down there. He 
'tends to all the letters and sees that they get to 
the right folks. I think everybody ought to 
lick on their own stamps, and not make him 
do it." 

“Well, I don’t want you to go to the post 
office ; I want to send a note to Dr. Pillsbury. 
Do you know where his office is?" 

“Yes, it's near the bank. There's an Ital- 
ian man near there, and he keeps oranges and 


302 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


peanuts. He tossed me a peanut once. It 
was roasted too much, but it had two meats in 
it. 0, I went down to the doctor’s once with 
Uncle Roscoe. He went to get a — a descrip- 
tion put up.” 

“ Prescription, you mean. Well, I’m glad you 
know the place. I want you to go right there 
and take this note. Then the doctor’ll tell 
you what to do. Maybe he’ll take you in his 
buggy and leave you at Miss Hendricks’s.” 

Sarah Dakota had made this suggestion in 
her note to the doctor. She wanted Garde out 
of danger. She shuddered at the thought of 
his getting the dreadful disease, for the child 
was very dear to her. 

She took the precaution to hold the note by 
pincers over the blue flames of burning sulphur, 
and being thus disinfected, it was dropped from 
the window. 

Garde took it, tucked it in the pocket of his 
sailor waist, and trotted sturdily down the road. 

The sun went down behind bars of scarlet 
and gold. The autumn sky grew a deep purple. 
The moon came out in soft, silvery floods of 
light. Night had come and neither Guy nor 
the hired man had made his appearance. It 
was very strange ! 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


303 


Sarah Dakota forced herself to eat some sup- 
per. “ I must keep up my strength,” she said. 
‘ ‘ The doctor-book says that when one is well 
nourished one is less liable to take disease.” 

So she made and drank a cup of coffee — 
something she was not in the habit of doing — 
and ate bread and cold beef, and some of the 
baked pears Thirzah Ann had so kindly pre- 
pared. 

Then she made a slice of toast and a cup of 
tea and carried theifi up to Juliet. 

The latter had just awakened from a troubled 
slumber. She looked worse, her cousin thought, 
for the red, pimply blotches had spread over 
all her face and neck. 

“ 0 !” she exclaimed, “ I had another fright- 
ful dream. I thought I was wandering in dark- 
ness, and I had such a dreadful smothered feel- 
ing. Maybe I am going to die. 0, little 
Indian, I’ve been so mean and hateful to you. 
I’ve let you be blamed and kept still all the 
time. It was selfish and cowardly — I see it 
now. I am sorry for it. Do forgive me, 
won't you? And pray for me.” 

“I will,” said her cousin, tenderly. “And 
as for forgiving you, of course I will and do. 
Don’t worry about it. I've been ugly tern- 


304 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


pered myself sometimes. I need praying for, 
too.” 

And, kneeling down, with the darkness out- 
side and the loneliness of the silent house with- 
in, and with her cousin's distressed and 
strangely disfigured face near her, Sarah Da- 
kota prayed for them both — two helpless, 
frightened girls ! 


CHAPTER XX. 

HOW IT ALL CAME OUT. 

IT was in the small hours of the night, when 
the wind whistled shrilly around the big 
chimneys and the autumn rain fell sharply 
against the window panes, that Sarah Dakota 
was awakened from a brief doze by a thunder- 
ing knock at the door. Her first feeling was 
that of fear at hearing the sudden sound in the 
dead of night, but this was quickly followed by 
emotions of relief and glad expectation. 

“ It's the doctor, maybe," she said to her- 
self, and, with the lamp in her hand, she left 
Juliet still sleeping feverishly and went down 
the long stair to the gloomy hall below. She 
unlocked the front door and threw it open. 

There, on the .threshold, in the darkness and 
drizzling rain, were three figures. One was 
ruddy- faced Dr. Pillsbury. As for the others, 
the girl gave a little scream of surprise as she 
saw who they were. For it was Colonel Van- 
decar and his wife — Sarah Dakota’s father and 
stepmother. 

“ Pappy ! ’’ she cried, and would have sprung 
20 


306 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


joyously into his outstretched arms, but she 
suddenly paused, and her face grew white as 
she motioned him back with a trembling hand. 

“ Go away! ” she said, hoarsely. “ I am 
so glad to see you, but I dare not let you in ! 
Go away ! we have smallpox here ! ’ * 

Before Colonel Vandecar could say a word 
his wife stepped forward and took the slight, 
girlish figure in her arms. Very tenderly and 
motherly were her tones as she said, “ My 
dear, brave child, do you think we would leave 
you to bear this heavy burden alone ? No, we 
have come to help you. There, there, my 
poor dear !” for the girl, quite broken down by 
excitement, was sobbing convulsively and 
clinging to her. 

Dr. Pillsbury stepped into the hall with a 
brisk, professional air. 

“ I will go right up and see the patient. I 
would have come before, but I was sent for out 
in the country. You didn’t know, did you, that 
your Uncle Roscoe’s hired man, Jabez Brown, 
was injured ? It was done by a falling tree.” 

‘ ‘ And that was what kept him and Guy ? ’ ’ 
exclaimed Sarah Dakota. 

“ Exactly. Poor Guy has had a hard time 
between his anxiety for Jabez and his efforts to 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


307 


get a doctor. They — he and Jabez — were up 
in the wood lot, you know, when the accident 
occurred. 

“ The poor boy was pretty well tuckered out, 
and I compelled him to stop at my house on 
the way home and get something to eat, though 
he didn’t want to, for he said you girls were 
alone and would be worried because he and 
Jabez hadn’t come. Whom should we find in 
my office sound asleep in a big chair but that 
little shaver, Bogardus. He had been beguil- 
ing the snuffy old Italian who keeps the fruit 
store near by, and my office floor just rattled 
and snapped with peanut shucks as we walked 
over it. 

“ Guy spied a note sticking out of the boy's 
pocket, and I saw that it was addressed to 
myself. You can imagine what consterna- 
tion it produced when we read that there was a 
case of smallpox at Van Dorn Farm. Guy 
was for coming here at once. He’s more 
plucky than I ever gave him credit for. But I 
had him take little Garde over to Miss Hen- 
dricks. On the way he met a hack driver, 
who inquired the way to Van Dorn Farm. He 
was bringing your father here,” with a bow 
toward Colonel Vandecar. ‘ ‘ Now, ’ ’ continued 


308 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


the doctor, “ I want to see my patient imme- 
diately. And you/’ addressing the elder Van- 
decars, “you had better not come up at pres- 
ent. You are tired after your journey and need 
refreshment.” 

“0, we’re not so very tired,” the Colonel 
hastily interposed. “The sight of my girl 
here has freshened me up wonderfully. I was 
afraid that I’d find her down with smallpox! 
I’m so thankful, I can assure you, and if 
there’s anything we can do for that other 
poor little girl, why, let us know. I’m too old 
a soldier to be a coward.” 

“Yes, please remember that we are not 
afraid,” said his wife, smiling down at Sarah 
Dakota, who was assisting her to remove her 
wraps. “I will wait on myself, dear. You run 
right up with the doctor, for I think I hear 
some one calling — isn’t it your cousin ? ” 

Juliet’s voice indeed, weak and plaintive, was 
heard calling from the upper room. 

The doctor rubbed his hands complacently, 
as if pleased at the prospect of an interesting 
case. He followed Sarah Dakota up to the 
pleasant chamber. 

Juliet was sitting up in bed. She looked 
worse than ever, her cousin thought. 


SARAH. DAKOTA. 


309 


The doctor entered the room and approached 
the bedside gravely. 

“0, I’m so glad you've come ! I’m real sick. 
Tell me, am I going to -die ? ’’ Juliet cried, and 
the tears rolled down her swollen red cheeks. 
The physician looked at her keenly ; he felt her 
pulse, asked a few questions, and then he 
turned to Sarah Dakota and said, with a short, 
dry laugh, “ Much ado about nothing ! This is 
a well-developed case of measles !’’ 

“Measles!” gasped both girls. 

‘‘Yes, indeed, my young ladies. No small- 
pox here." 

‘ ‘ But the man — the tramp I thought I caught 
it from?" stammered Juliet, hardly knowing 
whether to laugh or cry, and consequently do- 
ing a little of both. 

“ Probably had measles. I heard of two or 
three cases over in Hawkinsville — that’s on the 
way to the Springs. At any rate, you have no 
need to worry about smallpox." 

“And I’m not going to die?" said Juliet, 
with considerable animation. 

“ Sometime, as are we all. But not at pres- 
ent, thanks to God and your cousin’s faithful- 
ness. You ought to become a physician, my 
dear little Dakota," turning to the girl who 


310 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


stood beside him. “How came you to know 
what to do?” 

“It was Aunt Katrinka’s doctor-book,” 
Sarah Dakota replied. “It said, ‘Keep warm 
and induce perspiration.’ ” 

Dr. Pillsbury threw back his head and in- 
dulged in a prolonged laugh. 

‘ ‘ What ! That old doctor-book ! I have 
been joking Miss Katrinka about it for years. 
She makes a regular fetich of it ! I am posi- 
tive that she has more faith in it than in all my 
pills and potions. Well! well! well! I sha’n’t 
make fun of it any more ; it has worked ad- 
mirably in this case. Miss Juliet, allow me to 
congratulate you on your blooming complex- 
ion !” with a roguish look at his patient. 

“Those horrid pimples won’t stay there for- 
ever, will they?” 

“0 no. But you don't want them to go 
away too soon. Keep from taking cold and 
don’t strain your eyes in the light, and you will 
do very well. I see you are still feverish, so I 
will leave some powders for you.” 

“May I come in?” said a gentle voice, and 
young Mrs. Vandecar appeared in the door- 
way. 

“Yes, yes, come in!” the doctor replied, 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


31 1 


heartily. “ I sha’n’t bar anyone out who is not 
afraid of measles.’ * 

“Yes, it really is only measles, Dr. Pillsbury 
says,” exclaimed Sarah Dakota, turning an 
eager, pleased face toward the newcomer. “0, 
aren’t you glad — mother!” 

There, it was out at last, that word which she 
said she would never speak. But the girl had 
uttered it lovingly, too, for the revelation had 
come to her that surely this new parent must 
have some affection for her, since she had not 
hesitated to come in the hour of need and peril. 
And, as Sarah Dakota herself said afterward, 
“You see, she didn’t even coax father to stay 
away. Most folks are scared at the very name 
smallpox, but — my mother came right into the 
house as soon as she could, and she didn’t act 
afraid of me or of the contagion I might have 
in my clothes, but put her arm around me, and 
you don’t know how kind it seemed. I was 
feeling so tired and worried, and her love and 
tenderness were what I needed. I had been 
praying to God for somebody or something. She 
had been praying for me, too, she said, and so 
God brought us to each other, and I think we 
will be mother and daughter ever hereafter.” 

And so they were. The young stepmother’s 


312 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


faithfulness and love were shown still further, 
for, just as Juliet was able to sit up and hold a 
mirror before her pretty face, “to see whether 
any of those horrid pimples had left a mark,” 
Sarah Dakota was taken with the measles. She 
had them pretty hard, too. Her worry, excite- 
ment, and overexertion had rendered her sus- 
ceptible to a severe attack. However, she got 
over the disease without permanent injury, and 
when she was well again somehow life seemed 
very sweet, rich, and happy. 

First of all, there was the warm, abiding love 
of father and mother; then thankfulness that 
God had given her strength to be faithful to 
Juliet in the latter’s hour of need; and, in ad- 
dition to these blessings, she rejoiced to learn 
that all suspicion and blame attached to her had 
been removed. Juliet, for once in her life, had 
acted a frank and noble part. With many tears 
and much humility she confessed to the aunties 
and Madame Pinkeray, at the earliest oppor- 
tunity, all about her going to the hop at the 
Springs, and about taking the amethyst neck- 
lace. She told with bitter shame how she had 
allowed the blame to rest on her cousin. But 
she could do so no longer, for Sarah Dakota 
had been so true to her in that awful day and 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


313 


night, when disease and pain, loneliness and the 
terror of death had encompassed her. 

She was forgiven. Madame Pinkeray was 
rejoiced to find that her faith in the little “ Terri- 
tory,” as she called Sarah Dakota, was on a 
firm foundation. She forgave Juliet, and com- 
forted her with wise, cheering words ; and the 
Sampsons, mother and daughter, waited in vain 
to hear of any startling expulsion from Bonny- 
brook Hall. 

The aunties, of course, were amazed at 
Juliet’s wrongdoing. “She always had such 
pretty manners and innocent ways,” said Aunt 
Barbara, mournfully. 

But Aunt Katrinka remarked, philosophically, 
“ 0, she's young, and there's hope for improve- 
ment. ‘A fault confessed is half redressed.’ 
Juliet seems truly penitent. We must be mer- 
ciful to the erring. Her foolishness has been 
mostly the fault of her bringing up. Joshua’s 
wife has been something of an invalid for years, 
you know, and Juliet’s been left to the care of 
servants or sent to those showy city schools, 
where a fine lady is thought more of than a good, 
true, well-bred woman. But I think if she stays 
here at Bonnybrook Hall and goes with such 
girls as Essie Hendricks and others of the Sil- 


314 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


ver Cross, I am sure she will become what we 
want her to be — what every Van Dorn should 
be — a true Christian ! * * 

“ As for Sarah Dakota/' said Miss Barbara, 
earnestly, “I do hope that Chauncey will let 
her stay with us. He seems so eager to have 
her go back with him, and I don't wonder, for 
she is a dear, winsome girl." 

But it was finally decided to leave Sarah Da- 
kota to finish her course in Bonnybrook Hall. 
She is there now doing good and faithful work. 
Gay and happy is she always, with the light, 
buoyant spirits of a healthy young girl; but 
underlying all the gayety is a strong, earnest 
desire to be good and helpful, to “do noble 
deeds and not dream them all the day long," 
to make the world a little sweeter and better be- 
cause her young life is in it. 

And we think she is doing this, for it is said 
that her influence has helped many a thought- 
less girl. Sarah Dakota has the amethyst neck- 
lace now. Aunt Katrinka gave it to her the 
next Christmas. But although she thinks a 
great deal of it, she prizes even more the little 
silver cross she now wears, for she has become 
a “ King's Daughter." 

And after her school life is finished she hopes 


SARAH DAKOTA. 


315 


for a field of greater usefulness ; for, as she 
says, “When I am through with my studies 
here I shall go home to Rollingstone Ranch. 
There is work there in the West — church work, 
Sunday school work, home work. I want the 
tidings of the dear Christ’s love spread all over 
my beautiful, broad prairies. God helping me, 
I mean to do all I can for the fair land whose 
name I bear ! ’ ' 


THE END, 



















































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